Fall On Your Knees
by A Touch of Insanity
Summary: This is not a Christmas story. This is a story of two brothers, both harboring secrets from the war, of soldiers and the battlefield they don't know how to leave, of finding happiness in unlikely places. And a little bit of Christmas. AU. Warnings inside.
1. Prologue

**Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Dean/Lisa, Sam/Gabriel, Sam/Ruby, Sam/Jess, canonical levels of Bobby/Crowley and Bobby/Ellen**

**Warnings: Alcoholism, Repressed romantic feelings, PTSD, references in one chapter to a multitude of methods of torture (all-inclusive, but warning will be given at beginning of chapter), sexual references and scenarios**

* * *

><p>2007<p>

Iraq,

50 miles into the Southern No-Fly Zone,

170 miles from Jordan

* * *

><p>Dean Winchester was nowhere to be found.<p>

There was a man of that name who, four months earlier, stumbled across the threshold to Hell with a black bag over his head. There was a man of that name who, three months ago, prayed out loud to a god he didn't believe in to just let him die. There was a man of that name who, one month back, was asked a question, the same question he'd been asked every day for three months. This same man had said yes.

Dean Winchester was no longer here. He was long gone by the time a soldier with the single name of _Castiel_ walked across the same threshold Dean had crossed months before.

Fifteen minutes after the soldier's left boot hit that flattened ground headed into the mouth of Hell, it was back, coming from the other direction, the footsteps were heavy and dragging, for the shape of a person formerly known as Dean Winchester came with it. Deep footprints. The path he made was clear, with dark brown treads where the blood on his boots mixed with the sand.

The soldier known as Castiel blinked at the sun. There was a man to be rebuilt.


	2. Chapter 1

2010

Lawrence, Kansas

* * *

><p>Dean took a swallow of beer, a long one.<p>

He'd been cockblocked four times in the past hour alone. _By__his__own__wingman_. Not even on purpose, and that was the most annoying thing about it. He couldn't be angry, not in a way that he wouldn't feel guilty about a second later.

It wasn't Cas' fault. He just did that thing he tended to do. The staring thing. Where he'd scrape at the insides of someone's soul with his eyes. It wasn't even intentional; Dean would know if it was, since he'd been on the receiving end of it for way too long.

No, he'd be putting the moves on a pretty girl, and then she'd look over at Cas, just a quick glance, the normal kind, to check out the friend of the guy she was potentially going home with. And then Dean would notice her eyes flick back over to where Cas was sitting, more and more frequently, until she started looking uncomfortable. The thing was, her friends would all be playing pool or something, so there was no one to distract Cas from doing the soul-stare. He was just making sure for Dean that she wasn't some sort of crazy bitch who might steal his stuff or something.

Cas was more of a watchdog than a wingman. Okay, so he was a bit socially awkward, but he couldn't be blamed for that. Besides, they'd known each other for what felt like forever. He _knew_ Cas. Knew that he was making an effort at normal social interaction and rituals. He really tried, and even, at Dean's suggestion, read and memorized the entirety of the Bro Code (which didn't really go so well, in point of fact) in an effort to be vaguely normal and had subsequently been told to forget the whole thing.

Dean didn't really mind all of this because, well, it was Cas, and Cas was his Official Best Friend. Well, that sounded wrong. More like Entirely Heterosexual Lifelong Booty Call, given that they didn't live together and traded free time and affection like some people traded sexual favors. On the few instances where they'd shared an apartment, they were more like Entirely Heterosexual Life Partners. They were Banky and Holden, only without the sexual tension and lesbian turning their little shindig into a triangle. He wouldn't hold anything, even a missed chance with that one babe in the leather pants that left nothing to imagine, against Cas. Still, she had been _hot_.

Dean had downed three fingers of bourbon when he came to terms with the fact that he wasn't getting laid that night for sure.

* * *

><p>In the absence of female companionship, Dean invited Cas to hang out after they left the bar. He turned on the TV and flipped to a channel with movies, poured himself a drink or two. They both sat on the couch, neither actually really invested in the film because that was what they did. They would find some sort of distraction until Dean could say that, obviously, it was too late for Cas to walk home, so he'd have to stay the night. Cas wouldn't put up a fight, even to humor him, and Dean thought that maybe it was because Cas knew that he didn't have nightmares when he knew that he was in the next room.<p>

It happened often enough that Cas had a drawer in Dean's dresser and a couple of hangers in his closet so he wouldn't have to walk home before work in the morning or so they could go to breakfast and Cas wouldn't have to wear stale clothes.

It wasn't like they didn't have boundaries. Cas always took the couch (and maybe Dean had bought a nicer couch so his back wouldn't hurt in the morning) unless, despite his presence, Dean woke up screaming in the middle of the night. Then Cas would bring him a warm, damp washcloth to wipe the cold sweat from his face and lay next to him on top of the covers, not touching, and just _be __there_ until Dean fell asleep. He didn't actually know if Cas slept at all because he'd never seen him asleep, whether on the couch or in his bed, and he was always in another room when he woke up, but that was just one of those Cas things, the not-sleeping. There were a lot of little things like that. Quirks. Dean sort of liked them a little, made it fun living with a robot. (But Dean was only half joking when he considered the possibility that Cas was bound by the three laws and harboring a mechanical heart.)

* * *

><p>Dean woke up to muffled voices. At first, he didn't really register them, comprehend them, but by the time he had pulled a shirt on so he wouldn't be walking around in his underwear, it clicked. There were two voices. Both male. In his kitchen.<p>

He opened his bedroom door and stopped, frozen.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said, and Dean grimaced. _Oh.__That __was __right.__Sam __was __going __to __visit. __Today, __apparently._ "Don't worry about it, Cas told me you forgot the second I walked in the door."

Dean looked over at Cas, who was pushing scrambled eggs around a frying pan with a spatula.

"I had forgotten as well, but I convinced him to let you sleep. Actually, I was going to wake you up in a minute. You have impeccable timing."

"Oh," Dean said lamely, sitting at the counter beside his brother. He wasn't mad at Cas. After all, Cas was making him breakfast. And, well, it was stupid to be mad at him in general. "So, how was your flight?"

"Too long. Boring. The usual." Sam looked up, eagerly holding out his plate as Cas came around to scrape eggs onto it. "By the way, I've charged Cas with helping you find a Christmas tree. It's week before Christmas, but you wouldn't know it in here. It's depressing."

"This evening, maybe?" Cas asked. He gave Dean a sightly bigger helping of eggs before heading to the fridge to grab the ketchup for him.

"Sure." Dean took the ketchup, but noticed that Cas wasn't serving himself. "You gonna eat?"

"I had some toast before Sam got here. I'm fine." He checked his watch. "I need to leave for work soon. I'm going to go get dressed." He went off to Dean's room. Sam made a noise between a snort and a sigh.

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm just reconsidering the present I got you. I almost got you and him a couple of round trip tickets to Iowa so you could just elope already, but you'd have to leave Kansas for it to actually do anything, so I decided against it. But I don't know. You two could move to California. God knows we don't see each other as much as I'd like."

Dean stared at him for a second. "You're serious."

"Well, yeah." Sam gave him a no-freaking-duh look. "I mean, you two already live together-"

"We don't. Live together."

"Wait, really? He was here, I just assumed-"

"No, he stays over sometimes." Sam looked at him for a split-second, then got his I'm-a-knowing-bitch look on.

"How many days a week does he stay over, on average?"

"Maybe four." Dean shrugged, considering it, and took another bite of eggs. "Sometimes two or three in a row."

"What percentage of your dresser-slash-closet is his?"

Dean thought about it. One drawer of three, maybe forty percent of his closet, but it's not like Dean really used his closet all that much anyway.

"I dunno. Maybe, like, thirty-five, thirty-seven percent. So? What're you getting at?"

"You know the rule. Twenty-five percent is reason enough to move in together. How often a week do you see him?"

"Maybe six or seven times, but not always every day. What are you-"

"So, why, exactly, are you two not living together?"

Dean shrugged; he hadn't ever considered the idea. "Why should we? It's not like we're dating. That's a rule for chicks."

"I know that. I know you two have a weirdly platonic relationship, but it's still a relationship. A pretty serious one." Sam gave him an all-knowing look (aka an insufferable bitchface). "When was the last time you had a relationship with a woman that lasted more than one night? I'm not saying it's healthy, but I think he satisfies you, emotionally. Might as well split the rent."

When Dean looked at it like that, it actually sounded like a good idea. They really did spend enough time together for it to make sense, and hell, Cas had slept over an entire two weeks once, but that was extenuating circumstances involving the shitty plumbing in his apartment, and maybe he'd ended up staying an extra day or so after it was all fixed. So, the roommate thing. It wouldn't be so different.

"I'll think about it," Dean said, and finished up his breakfast. Cas came out of his room a second later, in his cheap suit and tie, his work clothes. He was a risk analyst at some insurance company, but how the hell he'd gotten the job in the first place was beyond Dean. It wasn't like he had a degree. Neither of them did. But, then, Cas knew people who knew people, had some friends on the inside from the old days, friends who had gotten out. They were like the freaking Mafia or something. It still gave Dean the creep if he thought about it too much.

"I will see you this evening," Cas said as a goodbye.

"Yeah. See ya." Dean downed the rest of his orange juice and sighed.

Sam chuckled to himself. "Seriously. Consider marriage." Dean rolled his eyes.

"I'll marry him as soon as you marry someone." Dean stopped. "You seeing anyone?" It was about time, really. Jess was what, four years ago? Something like that.

Sam shrugged in a way that, to Dean, said that _yeah,__yeah__he__was_, and _no,__he__didn__'__t__want__to__talk__about__it_. Well, Dean was a brother.

"What's her name? Or _his_?" He smirked a little at the running joke. Samantha and his taste for burly men who wore leather vests and had slicked-back hair. Oh, high school...good times.

Sam gave him a look. "_Her_ name is none of your business."

"None of Your Business? Bit of a mouthful, don't you think? Does she have a nickname or something? Because I could see where it might be a bit of a hassle in bed-"

"Really, I don't want to talk about it. It's not a serious thing, anyway."

* * *

><p>Several Hours Earlier<p>

San Jose International Airport

* * *

><p>Ruby twisted the hem of his shirt around her fingers. "I don't see why you won't let me come with you. It's been a long time since we last saw each other. He can't hate me still."<p>

"Dean can hold a grudge like no one else, you know that. Maybe next year, alright? I want you there, he's just…he's not doing great. Next time, though. I promise."

"Fine. I love you, you know." Sam kissed her on the nose.

"Love you, too. But I've gotta go. Don't wanna be late."

She nodded, smiling. "I know. You got your stuff?" Her tone indicated the crystals sewn into the lining of his jacket.

"Yeah. Of course."

"Good. Don't want my baby hurting." He smiled and kissed her on the mouth, chastely. "You should go. Call me when you get there, okay?"

"I will. Love you."

She smiled warmly and patted him on the chest. "Love you, too. Now go."

He left her to go make his way through security, itching a little under his skin because the high from the night before was starting to wear off. But only a few more hours and he'd be a god again.

* * *

><p>That Night<p>

Sanderson's Tree Yard

* * *

><p>"I don't know. This one's kind of wimpy on this side." Dean inspected the balding branches almost snobbishly. Cas guided him over to his side, then made a broad, show-casing gesture.<p>

"This side, however, looks quite nice. We can put it in the corner, near the bookshelf. With strategic lighting, you won't even see the other side." Dean looked at it. He could see it, all bedecked in lights and ornaments, with a couple of presents underneath. Cas kneeling beside it as he opened on of his gifts. Yup. It would work.

"Fine. But not too many lights. We don't want it to look like it's overcompensating for something."

"Of course."

A largish man who had identified himself as the Sanderson in charge of the lot and all of its trees came over, smiling wide. "You boys make a decision?"

Dean shrugged, but Cas answered with certainty. "Yes. We'll take this one. How much to wrap it?"

The absolute last thing Dean ever wanted to do ever in his life was to drive with the blasted tree on his roof. Again. Maybe part of the reason he always put off tree-shopping was because it meant the utter betrayal of his beloved Impala. The car was a thing of beauty. If she was a woman, Dean would buy her dinner, take her to a chick flick and make love to her. It was that serious.

But having bungee cords strapping the tree to her roof, reaching in through her open windows? Not okay. She wasn't a beast of burden; she deserved better.

"I really hate this," he growled, mostly just to make his grievance known. Not that Cas didn't have any idea.

"Would you rather carry it two miles?" Dean knew that Cas knew that he just had to say it, that he would fill a role by soothing his annoyance.

"Still don't like it."

"I know. We're almost home." He didn't pay attention to it at first, but the word sort of echoes in his head. _Home. __Home. __Home_. Maybe Cas thought of his place as home. Not his own apartment. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe he should ask Cas to just move in already. Okay, so he doesn't actually have a second bedroom, but he could just sell his mattress for a twin-sized bed and they could share the room, and the problem would be solved. Logistically, it could definitely work.

Dean had a box with about ten Christmas ornaments in it and a roll of lights, and that's it as far as his decorations were concerned. He'd never been one for the holiday spirit, and he didn't have anything at all until the first Christmas on leave. All of that was thanks to Sam, anyway, who must have wanted to make up for the Christmases they never really had as kids. Dean didn't really give a shit, but their combined ornament collection had grown a little since that first Christmas.

It didn't take long to put up and decorate the tree. Maybe twenty minutes, maybe half an hour. Sam was out somewhere - he left a note that said something about getting a drink and a motel room nearby, so Cas could have the couch - and Dean didn't really expect him back that night. He did that sometimes. Went out by himself. It made Dean wonder what the point of coming back to Lawrence even was if he was just going to be out on his own all the time, but he didn't want to say anything for once, in case Sam maybe stopped coming.

After, Dean took Cas out to the diner they liked, and they had cheeseburgers while Dean thought about the best way to broach the topic of moving in.

They really did pretty much everything together. And yeah, so maybe it wasn't healthy, but that was okay. Dean had never seen a healthy relationship, so he didn't really know what to look for anyway. But he and Cas…they didn't really have anything else. Sure, Dean had Sam, but not really, not since he went to Stanford and spent nine months of the year in a different state, and that started almost two and a half years ago.

Cas was there because he didn't know where else to be, and without Dean, Cas wouldn't know how to function. He'd never been in the real world until Dean took him home. He knew war strategy and at least eleven languages and how to kill a man with his fingertips, but he'd never been grocery shopping or done his laundry and without Dean, maybe he wouldn't have ever figured it out.

So maybe they should live together. And maybe later on, when Dean was the teeniest bit more convinced that he could never truly love a woman, not in the way that means a marriage, a house, and kids, they'll get married so they don't have to pay as much in taxes and can watch each other die slowly in some hospital somewhere. Maybe.

But right then, he took a bite of his burger and considered what kind of pie to get for dessert.

* * *

><p>Christmas Morning<p>

Dean's Apartment

* * *

><p>Castiel thought Dean was rather like a child at times. A disappointed child. He had this look on his face upon coming into the living room, like there was a chance that all of his hopes and dreams might be waiting for him, but if he wished too hard for anything, it might all crumble like ash in his hands.<p>

Castiel had known for a long time that Dean was secretly convinced that everything he touched might fall apart at any moment.

The coffee maker dinged in a melancholy announcement that it was quite done. Dean went for the cups while Castiel tried not to look at Sam. (There's this strange thing about them, Castiel noticed, that addicts can always pick each other out of a crowd, no matter how long it had been since they'd touched their own indulgences.) The dynamic between the three of them, though, was comfortable and still. Castiel couldn't think too much past Dean's repressed excitement.

Dean handed them their coffee, his eyes bright. "Presents? You guys better not have gotten me anything lame." It was a cover-statement, a disguise, for the fact that Dean would be happy to take anything they were willing to give, how he really just wanted to see them with their presents. Castiel was more than fluent in Dean; he thought in him, the way he thought in Hebrew or Arabic on accident sometimes, or dreamed in French or Swahili. His real meanings and intents were always popping up like subtitles. Right then, Dean wanted most to have him open a present, one in particular. Castiel would save it for last, once he figured out which one it was.

"Sam, you go first," Dean said. He grabbed a messily-wrapped present, his own handiwork, and threw it at Sam. It looked heavy form the way Sam grunted when it landed in his lap.

Long fingers pulled the paper apart. A book, a very large, somewhat old-looking book.

"Dean, seriously? This thing is a first edition!" It had old lettering on it, not a modern language. Sam had a taste for the occult, the source of his minor in Religious Studies. Castiel remembered with amusement the online bidding war Dean had engaged in one evening for the volume.

A gift appeared in his own lap next. It also looked like it was book, a fairly hefty one, at that. Castiel peeled it open carefully. It was a slightly-cracked collection of Shakespearean works.

"I thought that since you liked learning languages, you might like to try some Middle English. And, you know, literature. I don't know. There's some good stories in there." Castiel inspected the book for a moment or two, recalling the shock Dean had expressed when he'd been informed that Castiel had never heard of Romeo and Juliet.

After that, Sam got a couple seasons of Damages and a stuffed moose from Dean, as well as a Kindle from Cas (an impulse buy, mostly born out of the inability to come up with something better). Dean received a subscription to a muscle car magazine, an expensive bottle of Scotch, and a new leather jacket from Sam, and from Castiel, the box set of Dr. Sexy, M.D., a full Netflix subscription, and an iPod he'd spent two hours figuring out at the Apple Store so he could load up all of the Metallica, AC/DC, and Led Zepplin he could find. Really, Castiel didn't know what to give Dean; all the things he would have liked to give him were intangible - happiness, sobriety, the knowledge that he was a loved and deserving individual. He wished he could have come up with something better.

Sam gave Castiel a somewhat large collection of classic novels (possibly at Dean's suggestion) and a short, joking letter that gave his full approval and support of he and Dean's "blissful union" and the offer that when he was a lawyer, he would make sure that the babies they adopt would be cute and most definitely theirs, in the eyes of the law. What Castiel was really looking forward to, however, was the small box that Dean seemed to be guarding with his life, the one that was to be opened last.

It was not a heavy box, not at all. Fairly small. For a glorious moment, he thought that maybe it might be a ring, but he pushed that aside with the wrapping paper.

On a bed of dark green tissue paper rested one shiny, unassuming key.

Castiel looked up, finding a deceptively calm-looking Dean. "I know you don't really need it, since you crawl in through the vents or windows or teleport half the time, but I thought it might be useful. And if, you know, you just wanted to move in, that would be fine too. I wouldn't be against it." He looked at the key, trying to comprehend still. "I mean, it would be a lot more efficient and whatnot. You practically live here already."

A smile suddenly stretched Castiel's face of its own volition. "I suppose, for the sake of efficiency…." Dean grinned a rare, lighthearted grin. He looked about ten years younger.

"Awesome. I mean, you know, that's good. Efficient. I'll order a new bed today." Castiel raised an eyebrow. A new bed? A bigger bed? Did he expect them to share? "I mean, you have a twin, right? Two twins will fit a lot better in my room than a twin and a queen." Of course. That was what he meant. Castiel, as always, was letting himself hope just a bit too much.

"Another moment brought to you by the Lifetime Movie Network, destroyed by Dean Winchester..." Sam muttered sarcastically.

"Oh, shut up. Or I'll beat you with your moose."

For a moment there, watching the glint of the Christmas tree lights on the key, life was perfect.

* * *

><p>Castiel found Sam when Dean went out grocery shopping that afternoon. He looked jumpy, like he was thinking of leaving. Maybe it was time for Castiel to give him his real Christmas present. And Dean's, really.<p>

"How long?"

"What?" Sam snapped his head around almost audibly.

"How long since you began using stimulants?"

Sam paled in a way that would be comical if it didn't make him look dead.

"That was not a rhetorical question. Dean says that it sometimes sounds as if my inquiries are rhetorical, but I assure you, they aren't."

"I-How did you know?" Sam looked panicked, as if he had done something to give it away.

"In my particular branch of the armed forces, it was quite common. In fact, our superiors included a cocktail of pharmacological substances in our daily rations. The soldiers would call it _mana_, like it was something precious, but you'd see the soldiers who'd missed a day of rations, the way they'd tear others apart to get to more. I know what it feels like to be omnipotent, Sam, and I know the path of destruction it can leave in its wake. You need help, Sam."

Sam glared. "With all due respect, you know fuck-all about me. I'm fine, alright? It's not like I'm an addict or anything."

"Then leave. We both know that's a lie, and Dean has more than enough of his own problems without having to worry about yours."

Sam's eyes grew stormy and he rose to his full, intimidating height. "Fuck you, Cas. He's my brother. He'll choose me over you any day of the week."

"Only because he doesn't know you're a junkie."

"What I do in private has nothing-"

A hollow voice from the doorway interrupted him. "Sam?" Castiel could see the fear pour into Sam's face, the stunned realization written clearly on Dean's. _This __was __not __at __all __what __he __wanted. __Dean __was __never __supposed __to __know._

"Dean, it's not what you-"

Dean almost looked more afraid than angry at the truth he was stumbling over. "Are you _using_? Are you a fucking junkie? Don't you lie to me."

"I-I…yes. But it's not-"

"Save it. You know what? It's okay. It's totally fine. We all have our vices. These things happen." Dean came closer to him, as if he might hug him.

"Yeah?"

He laid a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Yeah." His fist flew out and hit Sam squarely in the side of his head. Sam went down cold. "Huh. Still got it," he said to himself, privately impressed for a moment. Castiel stared. About a million things he never meant to happen were all falling into place.

"Help me with him," Dean said, pulling his Jolly Green Giant of a brother up by an arm slung over his shoulders. Castiel complied, somewhat confused. "We probably have about half an hour to get to Bobby's. Good thing Christmas traffic is usually pretty light."

"Why are we taking him to your boss' house?"

"Bobby has a 50's-era panic room in his basement. We can lock him up there for a few days until he's clean."

Dean called Bobby in the car, let him know about the situation. The whole thing reeked of kidnapping, but Castiel knew that it was what Dean called "cold turkey" or nothing. It reminded him of what felt like decades ago, when he'd had Dean seal him in a cave for a week until the last remains of the chemicals his so-called brothers in arms had fed him over the years had been squeezed from his pores.

Sam was going to have his own taste of hell when he came to.


	3. Chapter 2

Three Days Later

Bobby's House

* * *

><p>Dean always felt comfortable on Bobby's couch, ever since he was a teenager, but he was getting a bit stir crazy. The fact that his brother was ten feet below, possibly going insane, probably hurting himself, didn't help matters. But Dean did it - had to do it - out of love. His little brother needed him to take care of him, and that's what he was going to do. Whether Sam asked or not. It was what he'd always done.<p>

For a while, he'd been nursing a beer, but Cas didn't have that comfort. The sad-eyed man just stared straight ahead.

Dean had already interrogated him as to what he knew about Sam's little problem, and came away satisfied. He'd only known since Sam visited and was going to tell him if he couldn't talk Sam into rehab. His mistake was trying to bargain. Sam didn't do bargains. The Winchesters were the sort to stick to their guns until they got exactly what they wanted.

But it was all making Dean worry. What was there to keep Sam on the right track after he was clean? Once an addict, always an addict. He needed Dean. But he couldn't just say, _Oh, __hey, __Sammy, __why __don__'__t __you __just __stop __going __to __your __Ivy __League __school __for __a __while __and __hang __out __with __me __because __I__'__m __afraid __you__'__ll __do __drugs __again?_ That wasn't really a viable option.

When the idea hit him, he nudged Cas with his elbow. "How do you feel about California?"

"I haven't ever visited the state."

"You up for a new experience?" By the look Cas gave him, he got what he meant. He nodded after a moment, large eyes focused.

"I'm certainly amenable to the idea."

It would mean dropping their jobs, their apartments, their friends (though that mainly meant Bobby), and everything that they'd built since they got back. And Cas just said yes.

Dean was really starting to consider marrying him.

* * *

><p>A Week Later<p>

Somewhere Near the Utah-Nevada Border

* * *

><p>Dean usually liked driving. He was always one for roadtrips. There was an instinctual nomadic appeal to the idea of the open road spreading out beneath the Impala's tires, leaving a fading stretch of asphalt in his wake.<p>

He wasn't going to let Mr. Grumpy Pants in the back seat ruin that for him. No, he was going to sing along to "You Shook Me All Night Long" as loud as the hell as he wanted and revel in a truly American experience.

That lasted for about the first day.

See, his shotgun didn't fully grasp the idea of rocking out and yelling along to sweet, beautiful music. Actually, Cas was kind of a boring copilot. He seemed content to watch the scenery breeze by.

Dean would have Sam take a turn in the front seat, but he was in a fairly permanent sulk and had decided to take advantage of the extra space in back by letting his obnoxious giraffe legs span the entire width of the car. It was the good kind of sulk, though. The kind that hovered around for a little while when Sam realized he'd done something stupid and wrong and didn't quite know how to say sorry just yet. Yeah, Sam was pissed as hell that Dean had locked him in a panic room for ten days and had confiscated everything he owned, but he was at least a little bit thankful (maybe) that he was no longer on what turned out to be meth. Good thing Dean found out when he did, too. As a general rule, Winchesters were too damn handsome to have meth mouth.

So, not the best road trip in the history of road trips, what with the shitty motels and almost-as-terrible conversation, but still maybe the best he'd ever had.

* * *

><p>The Next Week<p>

Palo Alto

* * *

><p>It was a stroke of luck that they even managed to find an apartment at all on such short notice, let alone a two-bedroom apartment. Okay, so maybe their landlord was a post-grad with an "herb garden" in the basement, but it was California and Dean had been young once, a long, long time ago, so it was fine. That, and the guy appreciated his car. Not many people saw her for the gem she was, and Dean could like anyone who did.<p>

It was also a beautiful thing that Bobby, bless his cantankerous soul, was kind enough to drive their moving truck to them, since Cas was only licensed to maneuver a high-speed single-passenger plane or some sort of drone and there was no way Dean was letting Sam drive a vehicle by himself.

Cas and Dean unpacked their stuff in about a day, no problem, and the new apartment was habitable in no time. Bobby got the couch that night before departing with a few gruff words of annoyance. It actually all settled into place pretty quick.

Sort of.

Dean wouldn't let Sam leave their apartment until he did a four-hour-long search of Sam's dorm, interrogated his rather neurotic roommate (though that just seemed to be a combination of his personality and fondness for liquor, not any admission of guilt), and asked everyone he ran into about "that skyscraper, Sam Winchester". For the two days that this thorough investigation took place, he left his brother with Cas and the threat that the smaller man could cause an indescribable amount of pain without leaving a mark and overpower a man three times his size. The sad thing was, it was probably an understatement.

When Sam was finally released from house arrest, Dean begged/convinced Cas to tail him wherever he went. Well, they traded off when he realized that, contrary to popular belief, Cas did actually need some sleep. Not that he admitted to it, of course.

After about a month, Dean backed off. Well, sort of. He started paying off Sam's roommate, Chuck, with alcohol and, when the kid looked especially mopey, constructive feedback on his writing (most of which was pretty weird, and, eerily, about two brothers a lot like Sam and him, only they went around killing monsters and it was full of sort of weird, uncomfortable homoerotic undertones). In addition, he may have paid their landlord's girlfriend, Eva, to follow Sam around campus, but no one would be able to find proof of that.

Dean was looking at his and Cas' combined financial situation (which was looking fairly depressing, considering that neither of them had gotten a job yet and were spending a fair chunk of their combined time stalking Sam) when Eva called.

"Speak," he answered, trying to calculate how long their savings might last them at their current rate of expense. Not long, it was looking like.

"It's Sam. He just shook hands with a woman, then walked away. I think we have a situation. They had this little look, like they've known each other pretty damn long."

"Tail him. Don't let him alone. If you see him go off by himself before I get there, confront him, okay? You might be able to intimidate him. Alright?"

"Got it."

* * *

><p>Roughly a Few Minutes Later<p>

Stanford Campus

* * *

><p>From the way his hand kept going back to his pocket, Eva knew that Sam had something he shouldn't have. Thing was, he was out in the open. There was no way he was going to try to snort or inject himself with anything right in the middle of the Oval, sitting on a park bench. His leg started to jerk, that frenzied bobble balanced on the ball of his foot, one of those unconscious gestures some people have. He was looking around. Damn, he looked sketchy. From her place crouched behind a couple of trees (maybe four feet behind him), she could feel a sort of mania about him.<p>

Shit. Dean was going to kill her. Worse, she'd feel terrible; she actually liked Sam, even if he had some troubles.

And then a short-ish man sat down on the bench beside him. A stranger? Another dealer? Eva listened closely.

"How much are you looking to buy?" the smaller guy said. "Because I can tell you're jonesing for something you can't get over the counter. I've got the best crystal you've ever seen, and you better believe it." Eva mouthed a few choice swear words. Some other dealer ambushing him? This was too much for little (giant) Sam to handle.

"I'm fine, really."

"Bullshit. You look like all you've ever known is generic pseudophedrine cut with old cat piss. Believe me, once you try the good stuff, you never go back. And I'm what you might call a connoisseur."

Eva typed out a quick text to Dean. _Some __other __dealer __just __came __up __to __him. __Short __stack, __brown __hair, __slicked __back. __What __do __I __do? __I __don__'__t __want __to __spook __them._

"Yeah? How much?" Sam asked, and Eva fought the urge to chuck her phone at his head. The damn fool.

"Forty a tab. But it's well worth the cost, don't you worry."

"Shit, man, fifteen's all I got on me. I can stop at an ATM."

"Phone, kiddo." The dealer extended his hand, and Sam gave him his phone. "Shoot me a text no later than tonight when you've got the cash. I'll tell you where to meet me. Pleasure doing business with you, Treebeard." The guy left and Eva swore again silently, possibly making up a few words.

_Dealer just left. Heading towards Herrin Hall. I can't follow him without leaving Sam._

A couple seconds later, _Got __him._

* * *

><p>Between the Herrin Labs and Herrin Hall<p>

* * *

><p>Dean closed his phone, eyes on his mark. Really, the guy was pretty small. He'd be easy to take down. But he had to go be an asshole, practically skipping with a fucking lollipop in his mouth. The bastard. Dean was going to put his drugs somewhere they wouldn't be able to get out without a scalpel. And he was really going to enjoy it.<p>

His footsteps were quiet, borne of plenty of training, and Dean was careful to keep to the shadows. But when he grabbed for the guy's shoulder, hands shot out to grab his wrist, smoothly twisting his arm behind him at a painful angle. _Where __the __fuck __had __this __guy __learned __to __do __that? _Dean grunted in discomfort as he was slammed, face-first into a wall.

"_Who __the __fuck __sent __you?_" the man hissed, jabbing his fingers into Dean's kidney. It caused enough pain to make him yelp.

"No one sent me!" Dean gasped. "I sent myself, you motherfucker. You messed with my brother, I'll-"

The pressure holding him against the wall eases just a little. "Unless your brother's name was Candi and he was a D-cup, I'm pretty sure I didn't 'mess' with him."

"I'm talking about the idiot you just sold meth to, asshole."

"Wait, you mean Sasquatch back there?" Dean was suddenly released as the guy started laughing uncontrollably. Moving quick, Dean threw out a closed fist before he could even turn around, but the guy grabbed it, flipping him around so his back collided with the brick with enough force to bruise. And he was still laughing. Dean aimed a knee to the groin, but the shorter man dodged it. His laugher died away. "Man, of all the coincidences, the Ten-Foot Wonder had a brother in the service," he said to himself, then looked at Dean. "You almost had me worried for a minute, there."

"Asswipe. I'll teach you to sell your shit to my brother." Dean feints with his right, goes for a left hook to the ribs, but the blow is deflected easily. Too easily. Fast jab to solar plexus, closed fist to collar bone, follow through with left elbow to jaw - it was the combination that floored his opponent in three blows last time he sparred with anyone, and this man just evaded them, redirected them like his fists were made of water.

"Is this fun for you?" the guy asked, smirking in an incredibly patronizing way. "Because I could keep going as long as you want. Or you could let me tell you something that'll get your panties out of that serious bunch you got going on. But really. Try to hit me again if it makes you happy. I've got all day."

"What are you talking about?"

"How cute. It has a brain, too." Dean glared at him. "Fine, fine. Listen here, cowboy. Your baby tree's gonna be just fine. I snatched this-" he pulled a little baggie with an off-white powder in it from his coat pocket "-from him. And what I gave him isn't even enough to sweeten your coffee, if you catch my meaning. I'm not a drug dealer, idiot. That's so bourgeois."

"What are you, then?"

"First and foremost, a baker. But when I'm feeling a little more magnanimous, I peddle sugar pills to former addicts. It's all in good fun."

"Did he pay you?"

"Maybe. Consider it a service fee. I distract him from the things that might actually kill him while the placebo effect works its magic. Really, I underprice myself." Dean thought it over for a minute. It didn't sound like such a bad plan.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Do I look like a liar to you?" He took a look at Dean's expression and shrugged. "Okay, bad question. But why would I bother with real drugs? Do you know how much that stuff costs? Ridiculous, really. And dangerous. Not my thing at all. I just like to have a little good, clean fun with the trust fund bunch in my spare time."

"You're a bit of a bastard, you know that?"

"So they tell me, but wouldn't you rather have little old me looking out for your darling little boy giant that the bitch who got him hooked in the first place?"

Dean stilled, focused. "You know who the girl is?"

The guy looked offended. "Of course. It's not like I didn't scope him out first beforehand. She's his girlfriend. They've been seeing each other for a while, best I could tell. He knows you've been watching him, so it was difficult to catch when he was sending messages to her, but I managed to track her down. If it weren't for the whole junkie bitch thing, I'd be high-fiving your bro right now; that girl's a solid nine, at least. Her name's Ruby, they've been-"

"Yeah, I know who she is." Suddenly, Dean got that feeling again, the one he got when her first met her, that dark crawling thing in his gut. He knew from the first moment he met her, on a routine recon run gone awry under a hot desert sun, that she was Bad News, with the capitalization. She smiled like a sociopath, and now Dean wasn't at all surprised that she was behind this. What she was getting from Sam out of it was a mystery, but this had Ruby written all over it. Fucking bitch.

"Not BFFs, then, I take it."

"No. Not even close." Dean looked at the man, sizing him up. "If you keep him away from her, I'll pay you. In addition to what Sam's giving you. But I don't want her anywhere near him."

"You, new best friend, have a deal." He extended a hand. "You can call me Gabriel, by the way, Ken Doll."

Dean shook, saying, "Dean. Dean Winchester."

Ten minutes later, he was heading home (having sent a _you __can __back __off_ text to Eva and squared everything away with Sammy's brand new guardian angel), humming "Highway to Hell".

* * *

><p>Half an Hour Later<p>

Chocolate Hangover Bakery

* * *

><p>Gabriel sighed, looking in his fridge. A little baking therapy was in order. Not that he needed therapy, but close calls always made him nervous.<p>

So that Dean kid wasn't anyone to be afraid of. That didn't mean he hadn't been fooled for just a second there. It wasn't like they'd stopped looking for him. There was a good reason he was always on guard, but baking and, more importantly, _eating_ said baked goods was as good a way to take the edge off as any.

It also meant that he'd mastered the art of baked goods. The desire to eat sweet things combined with that perfectionist streak he'd never been able to wash out of himself meant that he did well enough as a baker. But he had needs. Puckish needs.

That was the only reason he started hanging out around Stanford in the first place. Dumb trust fund geniuses could use a little mischief in their lives. He found he could turn a profit if he used the fact that half of them are on some sort of "study helper" or another. Easy pickings, and cheap, once he started making his own sugar pills.

He'd thought the giant would be the same way.

Gabriel had started scoping the kid out several months back. He'd thought he'd found another jerkass idiot, but then the kid was nice. Gabriel watched him pick up a freshman's books when she dropped them, get napkins for some kid who'd spilled his coffee all over himself. He was nice to people, which kind of put a damper on Gabriel's fun. And he was always with a snide, gorgeous brunette. Still, Gabriel sensed the dealer-junkie vibe beneath what was clearly an unfortunate romantic relationship. The girl was clearly no good for him and seemed like kind of a bitch, which was why Gabriel had decided to pounce. Of course, the giant kid had disappeared for a couple weeks, holidays, but when he'd come back, Gabriel was waiting.

Maybe the kid deserved something less-than-crappy. Gabriel was just doing a service to society. Either way, the bitch had to go.


	4. Chapter 3

A Month Later

Dean and Cas' Apartment

* * *

><p>Everything had fallen into place. Cas found a surprisingly well-paid job with a security company, setting up systems and doing risk analysis for the D-List and the wealthy. Dean was working in a garage with some guys Bobby served with back in the day. Every week, he picked up a status report and basket of scones from Gabriel at the bakery. Even so, the rent was actually covered pretty well, enough that he and Cas got a not-crappy couch that Samantha picked out, something Swedish or something. It was all going well.<p>

And that's when Gabriel burst into their apartment one evening and threw himself on their nice, lovely couch like some sort of Old Hollywood, Deep Southern starlet, ever the drama queen.

Dean looked from him to the door, back and forth. The door had definitely been locked. He knew for a fact. Better yet, he'd never told Gabriel where he lived. And now he was making a pretty dramatic display in his and Cas' living room. The other occupant in question basically flew out of the kitchen, a huge steak knife in his hand. Not something Dean would ever want to be on the other end of.

"Who are you?" Cas growled.

Dean put a hand on his arm. "Relax, he's the guy I've been paying to-"

"Castiel?" Gabriel asked in surprise when he looked up. "Holy shit." He looked at Dean hard, murderous, giving off a very clear _Do __not __fuck __with __me_ vibe. "Did you set me up?" Dean was getting the feeling that grievous bodily harm was on the menu for the evening.

"No, what are you talking about? You're the one who just showed up, unannounced, in our living room."

"_Our_? You're with Castiel?" Gabriel threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, this is fucking rich."

Cas appeared in front of him, slipping the knife to his throat. Dean started, but held himself back. He kinda wanted to know why his roommate-slash-life partner and Sam's fake drug dealer knew each other. Obviously.

"Oh, please. You and I both know no less than twenty-seven ways to disarm you from this position," Gabriel said, a smirk on his face. "This is cute. Really."

Cas backed off, his movements hesitant. "You're…."

"I take it you're not on the inside, then, if you're living with this bozo. If not, you better complain to your superiors, because this is a pretty shitty gig." Dean didn't take offense; Gabriel pretty much used insults as terms of endearment, sort of to make up for the delicious things he made. But he was a bit confused with the way the whole exchange was going.

"Correct; I'm not serving any longer. Who are you?"

"Someone who's a hell of a lot smarter than you. Really, you should look into plastic surgery. It's not safe these days to be walking around with your own face." Dean looked between the two of them, starting to get the picture. They must have been in the same garrison or something. Dean wasn't actually sure how it was all organized, to be honest, and he always got the feeling that the fewer questions he asked, the better.

"That would be why I didn't recognize you. In which garrison did you serve?"

Gabriel laughed. "Serve? I only ever served _one_, and He hasn't been giving orders for quite some time."

Cas dropped the knife. The carpet absorbed the sound into a thud, but it seemed loud in the sudden silence.

"You're one of the original four, aren't you?"

"In the flesh." Gabriel shrugged, then crossed his legs. "So, how are my brothers doing?"

"Michael and Lucifer are…" Dean looked at Cas, wondering how much he'd say, how much of the past he'd dig up. "…they've been neutralized. Raphael is still a threat, and until seven minutes ago, you were on the LAM."

Gabriel looked between the two of them with a raised eyebrow. "Michael and Lucifer were always a couple of whiny little dicks. I'm sure they deserved it." He shrugged. "So tell me, Cassie, what made you break rank and join the ant farm? I don't remember hearing about you rebelling at all; I might have recruited you if I'd known."

"It was..._complicated_." It was a loaded word, and Dean had been the one who'd crammed the bullets into that particular gun. But he wasn't ready to start reliving any of those memories just yet.

"Why are you here, Gabriel?" Dean said, finally speaking.

Gabriel smirked maliciously. "Funny you should ask. See, your little brother tried to give me a blowjob."

* * *

><p>Two Hours Earlier<p>

Gabriel's Apartment

* * *

><p>Gabriel sighed when he saw the text on his phone. <em>Sammy, <em>_Sammy, __Sammy_. Treeboy must really like his company, considering that they'd been seeing each other every couple of days, sometimes twice a day, since they met. Always, _Gabriel, __I __need __this, _or _Gabriel, __when __can __I __see __you? _If it wasn't for the frankly ridiculous amount of fake meth the kid was shoving up his nose, Gabriel would think he had a crush.

The whole thing actually made him feel a little guilty, which was kind of creepy and weird. Gabriel didn't do guilt; he did inappropriate levels of amusement.

Maybe it was the gangly limbs. Or maybe the puppy eyes. Actually, it was definitely the puppy eyes. He was a sucker for puppy eyes. All it took was one little flash of them baby blues (or hazels, as was the case), and he was handing out free gourmet cupcakes like he didn't have a business to run. Well, okay, it would take a lot more than a few cupcakes to bankrupt him, but the point was, he didn't like not being in control. It…tickled. In a bad way.

So when Sammy Redwood Winchester pulled out his puppy eyes, Gabriel found himself dishing out enough fake meth to kill him, enormous size or no. It occurred to him that Sam might have been selling it, but he definitely wasn't. He wasn't that sort of person. Besides, Gabriel would have seen, considering that he'd been following him around with creepy regularity. Well, not that creepy, since he's paid to. Paid enough that he can actually just leave the bakery closed while he goes out stalking. Nevermind that he may have hired a very large man to, ahem, _persuade_ Sam's little junkie-enabler girlfriend to leave the state.

The doorbell rang ("Never Gonna Give You Up") and Gabriel yelled, "Come in, Sammy-boy!" He wasn't going to get up for Sam. Nope.

But when Sam came into his living room, he did just that.

The kid looked like a complete mess. Inky circles under his eyes, long hair making weird shapes, hands opening and closing quickly. He looked like he was in a panic - a serious one. Sure, his message had sounded kind of needy, but Gabriel hadn't thought it was _too_ urgent. Looked like he'd thought wrong.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, uncomfortable that he felt bad for the kid.

"Last night. Well, starting three days ago. My roommate got a porn virus on our computer and it deleted a project that was due today. I had to stay up both nights to redo it. Burned through my stash. Man, I'm dying here." Gabriel was a little impressed - the kid stayed up for three days on sugar pills? That was pretty intense.

"Don't worry about it. I've got more."

"That's the thing. I- I can't pay. I don't have the money. I haven't eaten in a couple days, and I've still got to last until the end of the month. I literally have negative cash to give you." Poor Tree. Gabriel felt surprisingly terrible about the situation, but it wasn't like he was going to admit it.

"Sam. You know I don't deal on credit."

"I know. I know that. That's why- I mean, I was wondering if- Fuck, I don't know how to say it," Sam stuttered anxiously. And then he got down. On his knees. And started working at Gabriel's belt.

Gabriel jumped back. "Whoa there, kiddo. Can't slide to third if you haven't even touched first base yet." Sam stood up, ran a shaking hand through his hair.

"Um, alright, I guess. I can…I can do that." And just like that, he kissed Gabriel. Just planted one right on him. Not what he was expecting. Not at all. In the utter _what __the __fuck?_ery of the moment, it took Gabriel a second or two longer than he wanted to push him away, but push he did. Hard. Enough to land the gentle giant on his backside.

"Not what I meant!" Gabriel said clearly, slowly so he didn't miss the point. "I'm more of a boobs kind of guy. And by that, I mean, try again when you have lady bits. Overgrown foliage doesn't do it for me."

There was a second of puppy eyes- _damn __him_-and then Sam started crying. Fucking crying. Okay, not sobbing and wailing, but there were tears. It was actually vaguely manly, in a sort of angry, frustrated way (_however __that __worked_), but there were still tears, and Gabriel didn't do tears. That was _way_ out of his comfort zone. He shouldn't have to deal with tears. Ever. And yet, there was a sasquatch with very real tears in his living room, and Gabriel kept blinking, but he wasn't going away any time soon.

_Jesus. What do you do in this kind of situation?_

Gabriel came back from the kitchen a second later and squatted down beside Waterworks Winchester. "Here."

Sam looked up with watery eyes, then down at the muffin. He blinked a few times.

"It's not going to change colors if you keep staring at it. Well, not for a few days, at least." Sam looked at it, looked at him. "Just take the damn muffin, alright?"

Sam took the muffin. _Thank __God._Better yet, he'd stopped crying. It looked like baked goods really did solve everything.

"Look, it goes against every good business practice ever, but I'll give you a pass this time. I'll give you what you need, okay? Just no more blubbering. Or the _other __thing_. Definitely not the other thing."

"Thanks." This time, the puppy eyes gave him this really foreign urge to _hug __him_, of all things, but Gabriel was a man of restraint (_okay, __that__'__s __a __lie_) and he didn't. But man, poor kid. Staying awake for two or three days, not eating, snorting sugar - that was enough to make anyone neurotic as hell. He'd been dealt a pretty fucking terrible hand.

* * *

><p>Dean and Cas' Apartment<p>

* * *

><p>"Funny you should ask. See, your little brother tried to give me a blowjob."<p>

"He _WHAT_?" Dean bellowed, ready to pummel the guy. Whatever truce they had was abso-fucking-lutely gone. He was gonna learn what pain was really like. And Dean knew how to deal it.

Gabriel held his hands out, offering a weirded-out expression. "Whoa there. Relax, Rambo. I didn't take him up on it."

"Tell me what the fuck happened. _Now_."

"He's been having some stress. Might I suggest sending him some cash? Boy's got to eat."

"Yeah, funny, maybe if I wasn't giving _all __of __our __extra __money __to __you, _I would be able to do that." And of course, he signed a damn contract on that couch, threw away all their spare cash on the down payment.

Gabriel facepalmed, sliding his hand down his face as if it could wipe away the past couple of minutes. "Fine. Here's what's going to happen: First off, we're never going to speak of this little deal again, and then I'm going to give you back a hundred and fifty and you're going to give it to him and he's going to eat and we can all go back to how we were before. Got it?" Dean softened. That was better than he could have asked for.

"Why are you being so nice?"

"I don't even know. I guess your tree grew on me." Gabriel chuckled softly to himself and the bad joke, but Dean didn't even crack a smile. "Couldn't resist."

"Well, thanks, I guess. For the cash, and, I guess, not taking advantage of him being stupid. I owe you one."

Gabriel got up, a very tired look on his face. "You owe me a lot more than one, Dean-o." He headed to the door, then stopped and turned. "I gotta ask: Cassie, you made an honest man out of him yet?"

"Dean and I aren't in a relationship," Cas said with that long-suffering air they'd both acquired when people ask or tease about their Hetero-Bromance.

"Right." Gabriel waggled his eyebrows and he was gone.

Dean fell forwards onto the couch with an incredibly emphatic sigh. _Way_ too much drama.

* * *

><p>The Next Day<p>

Gabriel's Apartment

* * *

><p>Getting Rick Rolled by his doorbell was starting to lose its whimsy.<p>

"_Come __in!_" Gabriel yelled with maybe more aggression than strictly necessary. He had to remind himself that it was Rick Astley he was pissed at and not whoever bothered coming over.

"Hey." It was that sort of halfway-assertive, halfway-casual greeting Sam usually used. When he wasn't about to offer a hummer in exchange for stuff he didn't need.

"I take it you slept and feasted? You look a little less like death today."

"Yeah." Sam said it in an embarrassed way. "Thanks for all the food. It was really good." The half-dozen man-sized kolaches and hazlenut fudge bar he sent Sam home with had maybe been a bit of an impulse, a moment of weakness, but it felt wrong to send the kid home without food when he lived over a damn bakery, for crying out loud.

"Having a legitimate business does have its perks."

Sam pulled out his wallet, took out a few twenties. "For the…you know, and the food." Gabriel took most of it, but left a lonely Andrew Jackson in his hand. He wasn't cruel.

"Baked goods on the house." He shrugged and looked away, uncomfortable. Awkward silences were never his thing.

"I wanted to thank you. I mean, I did already, but for the rest of it. Fuck, I probably would have done anything you asked yesterday." A sudden, unbidden image of Sam bent over his couch, begging for something without words flashed into his mind. Jesus. What was wrong with him? "But thank you. You know. For _not_. And you could have kicked me out on my ass, but you didn't. I mean, I was a mess, and- It was really nice of you. I really appreciate it." Gabriel had never heard anyone say those words and actually mean them until that moment. And damn, there was just a hint of the puppy eyes.

Oh, he was screwed. Fucked six ways to Sunday.

"Kid, sit down." Gabriel patted the couch next to him, went and got a slice of Triple Chocolate Death Threat cake from the kitchen. He handed him the cake and sat back down. "You need to fucking relax." Sam took it, looked at it, confused.

"Thanks. I mean, you really don't have to be so nice."

"Kid, eat." Sam brought the first bite to his lips and, hesitantly, slid it into his mouth, like he was scared of what was in the cake. He blinked a few times, then relaxed into the couch. "Good?"

"Yeah. Yeah it is." Gabriel got a little warm inside; it was nice to hear someone complement his work.

"Good. I'll probably start selling it next week. You should come by for a slice sometime. I could turn you into my taste-tester."

Oh yeah. He was breaking his rules for Sammy Treebeard Winchester, and it was looking like the number of fucks he gave was just about equal to the number of vaginas he had. What a strangely glorious feeling.


	5. Chapter 4

Four and a Half Months Later

Dean and Cas' Apartment

* * *

><p>Dean came home to the smell of something kind of delicious. It happened sometimes. Cas would get good take out or make one of the three meals (besides breakfast) that he actually knew how to cook, and it would be good. This was not a dinner-y smell, though. It was sweet. Hmm.<p>

He sniffed at the air a little, curious, as he made his way into the kitchen. Cas was at the stove, his back to him, stirring something. He definitely heard Dean come in; there would be no fun in trying to surprise him. Still, Cas didn't turn around, clearly intent on his task. For some reason, Dean had the disturbingly domestic urge to rest his chin on Cas' shoulder.

But then Cas turned around to him, a big glob of something sticky and sweet and delicious looking on his outstretched finger.

Dean shook his head, dismissing the finger as "Too gay," and reached around to scoop a little for himself. It was pretty damn hot, and he slipped it into his mouth largely to not burn his finger. Fucking delicious. Cinnamon-y. Brown sugar-y. Buttery. Dear God.

Cas sucked the glob off of his finger and turned back to the stirring. "You like it?"

"Damn right I do. What is it?"

"Well, in about thirty minutes, it will be nearly an apple pie. Gabriel gave me a recipe, and I must say, I trust his cooking expertise."

"I'll say. Good work." Dean went into the fridge for a beer.

"Apple pie _is_ your favorite, is it not?" He had a strange look on his face, like it was really important that it was.

Dean popped the top off his beer with his ring, considering it. "I dunno. I don't really like to pick favorites. But I think I'm usually more of a chocolate silk or strawberry rhubarb fan. Not that I don't love apple. I mean, I love all pie. You know that." Cas looked a little confused, but he turned back to his stirring.

After a moment or two of silence, he said, "By the way, Sam sent me a text message earlier this afternoon. Something about promising a friend to 'hang out' and forgetting about dinner tonight. I think he intends to bring someone over. If I understood the message clearly."

"Yeah, that's bro-code for bringing a semi-casual date to a family dinner. I'll put an extra steak on the Foreman." Dean shuddered a little at how domestic it all seemed, but grabbed the steaks Cas had been marinating (_oh, __bless __Gabriel __for __the __random __cooking __tips __he __passed __on __in __the __rare __instance __he __came __over_) and went outside to their tiny excuse for a balcony. Not much room for more than a chair, the little grill, and Dean. It was nice alone time. He didn't use to grill all that much, but the thing about California was that it started feeling really nice outside by February, and Dean liked an excuse to get some fresh air. That, and he felt guilty about all the cooking duties Cas ended up with. This way, he could do his part. It was a nice chance to think, too.

It was all getting a lot better, really. He was glad for the move. Sam was coming over every Thursday for dinner so they could at least pretend to be family, he liked his job, and he and Cas were actually pretty damn good roommates. And even Gabriel, frustrating as his humor could be on good days, wasn't half bad, even if he had to see him every week. At least he didn't want nearly so much money any more.

Sam was looking less and less insane every week. Dean was trying to show that he trusted him just the tiniest bit (_what __a __lie_), and Sam was starting to actually warm up to him. There was a little less betrayal in his eyes when they saw each other. It was nice, or nearly nice.

When he went back inside with the cooked steaks, Cas was tossing a salad-in-a-bag and the microwave was buzzing with what smelled like those frozen mashed potatoes, the ones that weren't half bad. It was a lot of effort, what with the homemade pie and all, even for a guest. Maybe he missed something and something else was going on?

And then, without warning, Dean remembered what day it was. May. May 19th. Fuck. He held onto the counter top, nails scraping against the tile impotently. He breathed slow.

In….

Out….

In….

Out….

A hand settled on his shoulder. Calming.

"I'm sorry. I'd hoped you wouldn't realize." The hand squeezed slightly, just enough to be reassuring and supportive. There was a hug behind that hand, if he wanted it, but he didn't take it. Not yet. No, later on, he'd be grabbing at Cas' shoulders, his breath coming in short gasps, adrenaline boiling beneath his skin, late that night after he would wake up screaming. It always felt so pitiful. He'd avoid it for as long as possible.

Oh, he was going to get drunk tonight. More drunk than usual. That was all he needed. He'd drink and he'd be able to forget for a little while. For long enough to go to sleep, and then he'd get to be oblivious until the dreams came.

"Set the table for me," Cas said, instinctively knowing when Dean needed to man up and do what needed to be done so he wouldn't crack. So Dean did set the table, and also got himself another beer. He'd keep them coming that night.

When Sam knocked, Dean acted like a person vaguely in possession of social skills (since when it came to the little things, Cas could be clueless) and got the door. And then had to remind himself how to breathe like a normal human. Sam went in for a hug, and it took Dean a second to respond. If he'd been hugging someone who wasn't a giant, he would have done the normal thing and made scared faces over Sam's shoulder at the person behind him. Because the person behind him should not have been there.

"Dean, this is Gabriel. My friend. And Gabe, this is Dean. He has latent homicidal instincts, so remember what I told you and watch yourself." Sam smiled widely. "Come on. You still gotta meet the pants in Dean's quote-unquote non-sexual relationship." Just after Sam pushed past Dean, Gabriel gave him a kind of apologetic-scared-uncomfortable look that made him a lot less pissed. But if a guy who was definitely able to kick his ass halfway around the world without breaking a sweat was as freaked as he was, something was wrong, and Hell, considering the situation, it was going to be awkward. Awkward enough that Dean might put away some of his personal problems to freak out a little. Maybe that would ease it all.

Christ, it was gonna be a long night.

When Dean grabbed the salad bowl to take to the table, he looked at Sam and Gabriel for a moment. Because years earlier, back when they were teenagers, he and Sam had established the Casual Date Protocol for group or family dinners. Sam had brought a date- no, worse. Dean could handle his brother dating a man, it was weird to think about since he didn't actually mean it when he joked about Sam being gayer than a gift basket full of rainbows, but he could handle it. It was more the fact that it was Gabriel. For all Sam knew, _Gabriel __was __his __drug __dealer_. Granted, not the first dealer he'd fucked (considering that bitch, Ruby), but this was too weird. Not only all of that, but Gabriel hadn't said a single word about anything more than a buyer-dealer relationship between them. Gabriel had fucking lied to him, outright.

Man, they were going to have words. Words that largely referenced pain. Dean wasn't in the mood to think about pain at the moment, and he ended up gripping the fridge door handle with white knuckles for a moment before he could breath enough to grab another beer. It was really not okay that they'd stopped keeping liquor in the house.

Dean took a seat next to Cas and Sam, across from Gabriel. The table was round, fairly good sized. Dean gingerly felt around beneath it, found a clear path to Gabriel, and served him a swift kick in the shin. As Gabriel coughed, Dean smiled in a forced way.

"I almost forgot. How silly of me. Does anyone want anything to drink?"

"Just a couple of beers," Sam said. Godfuckingdamnit, Sam was ordering for stuff for him. Not okay. Dean started crafting worlds of pain for him in his mind, and that was not a good road to travel down. Man, fucking his little brother _and _drinking his beer? That shit just wasn't going to fly.

Dean put the beers down in front of them with a little bit more force than necessary, glad for the second six-pack in the bottom drawer. Those bitches didn't get to drink all of his beer. Screw that.

Cas put a hand on his knee under the table, a comforting sort of thing. He must have been watching bad TV again, what with all of the normal physical interaction. That was Sam's doing. Stupid fucking Sam with his stupid fucking fake drug dealer boyfriend and their stupid fucking secret relationship and just _stupid__fucking__shit_ _damnit!_

Dean ate his steak like a true carnivore, like he was relishing the kills his ancestors made ten thousand years ago (_back __when __there __was __no __Sam, __no __Gabriel, __and __infinitely __less __stress_). Sam ate his salad first as if he were some sort of gazelle or giraffe or something. It conjured a line from a dumb movie he once watched with Cas _-If __I __were __a __tuna __and __you __were __a __lion, __I __would __swim __out __in __the __middle __of __the __ocean __and __freaking __eat __you -_and he looked back down at his plate.

"Gabriel. What do you do for a living?" Cas asked, filling a somewhat awkward silence.

"I bake." Dean caught the hint of a smirk at Sam's mouth, the inadvertent reference to a drug he wasn't even fake-dealing clearly enough to be funny. "I, uh, have a bakery."

Sam nodded. "He's pretty amazing with an oven." _Oh. __Dear. __God._ Dean considered the difficulty of stabbing himself, through an eye, in the brain with his fork.

"Very impressive," he ground out instead.

"I watch the cooking channel a lot. I have to say, the marinade on these steaks is pretty awesome. You must be quite the chef yourself." Dean rolled his eyes, almost cracking a smile. It _was_ a very Gabriel thing to do. Compliment himself like that.

"Yeah, but the guy Cas got it from was kind of an asshole," he couldn't stop himself from saying. "All things considered." Cas nudged his foot under the table, his way of acknowledging the intense rage he was feeling.

"There's a pie in the oven. You'll have to tell me what you think," Cas said, making his sort of polite, not-smiling face that meant he was being friendly.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Pie? Wow. That's adventurous. Really nice of you to go through all that trouble." They shared a look that Dean didn't miss; the only thing missing was Sam's _What__'__s __the __occasion?_ But then, he knew the occasion. Of course he did. They must have talked about the day, must have, because it seemed to be one of those things where everybody knew but him.

Dean forced himself to zone out so he wouldn't break something, ignoring the small talk. He didn't want to deal with any of their shit. He wanted to curl up in bed and hate himself and Sam and Gabriel and pretend not to cry and maybe Cas would stay with him like he always did, and then Dean would hate himself a little more. Cas shouldn't have been with him. Not now, not in the first place. He shouldn't have let himself be Cas' anchor to normalcy, should have made him go out and find his own life, and he shouldn't have been keeping him here, trapping him in their weird sort of happy not-life. It wasn't right. Because Dean still had nightmares, and he still need Cas there when he woke up, had grown to expect it, rely on it. But they shouldn't be each other's crutches. In a perfect world-

In a perfect world, he'd be in talk therapy and a twelve-step program, and Cas would still be saving the world from threats the Army didn't even know about. Too bad there was no such thing as a perfect world.

"Why don't you let me help you with that?" Dean heard, shaking himself from the dark alleys his mind tended to wander down.

"That would be appreciated," Cas told Gabriel.

The second they were out of earshot, Dean leaned in to Sam, hissing, "What the fuck is up with your pint-sized boytoy?"

"He's of average height," Sam defended, and Dean fucking _growled_.

"I don't give a fuck about how tall he is. I was talking about the fact that you decided not to tell me that you were screwing a man. Really, Sam-"

"Is that such a _problem_?" Sam snarled. His expression was a full-on bitchface. "What, is your little brother not allowed to bring a man home to you? Is that not okay?"

Dean backed off a little. "You know that's not what I mean. You didn't tell me you were with anyone, and now this? Suddenly, out of the blue, you're bent? Thanks for the heads up." Sam made a prissy noise of anger, crossing his arms over his chest. _Girl._ He looked away, shaking his head. Sam looked like he was about fourteen, had the same sort of indignant anger.

"You're such a fucking hypocrite. I have been nothing but supportive about you an-"

"Don't you make this about me and Cas. This has nothing to do with your little fantasies."

"I just think it's a load of bullshit that you're playing the homophobia card." Dean rolled his eyes and looked away. He wasn't a homophobe. To each his own. Whatever. That was their business. Dean just didn't want to take part. That's all. He was hardly homophobic. But it was starting to look like he would have to fake it. Couldn't exactly be pissed about Sam dating his dealer if he wasn't supposed to know about that. "That's not what it is, is it? It's something else. What's-"

"This pie looks pretty damn good," Gabriel said. A little louder than necessary, like he was alerting them.

"Thank you."

Both of he and Cas had two plates of apple pie a la mode in their hands with desert forks, gave them to their respective partners. Dean glared at Sam, but he wasn't going to waste his time with a silly fight when there was _pie_ involved. No, he was wise enough to back down when something more important came up.

First bite, Dean considers leaving right then and there to get a ring so he can have Cas forever and ever. Fucking good pie, and he doesn't even really like apple all that much. Man, the things he would do for the next bite-

"Dean, eat it, don't have sex with it," Sam said, and Dean didn't pay him any attention. Bitch obviously didn't know what ridiculously good pie was like.

Another huge bite, and he just looked at Cas in awe. "You perfect human being," he said with his mouth full. He'd be lying if he thought that the slow, rare smile that spread across Cas' face didn't make the pie just a little bit better. He took another big bite, actually closing his eyes at how good it was. It was the pie of the gods. Some sort of metaphysically delicious accident of nature. There would never be a need for a woman in his life if he could just have pie like that forever. Not in an American Pie sort of way, just in a way that meant a lifelong commitment to it. No pie-sturbation for him. No sir.

"Cas, I guess just, uh, take it as a compliment?" Sam said in the background, teasing, but Dean was enjoying himself too thoroughly to notice.

And then it was all gone. His plate was empty. There was no more pie. How was he going to keep going?

Cas took the plate and came back a minute later with more pie. It was the closest Dean had ever come to kissing him on purpose.

Dean whispered, "I don't deserve you," accepting the plate like Cas was God and had chosen to give him the world entire.

Later, there was a third.

He would have had a fourth piece if he wasn't stuffed already. Instead, he laid on the couch, holding his stomach in pain.

"Cas, why would you let me eat so much? You're such an enabler," he moaned dramatically.

"I didn't have the heart to say no to you."

"That's good enough for me." He looked at Sam. "If I die tonight after I finish that pie (because I _will_ finish it), then I want you to know that I'm leaving everything to Cas. He gave me pie, and we still have to have words. Clearly, he's more deserving."

"Jerk. You're going to get fat, you know. You're going to force Cas to make you pies until he leaves you, and then you'll be fat and alone."

"Bitch."

"Yeah, whatever. Anyway. Gabriel and I are going to head out. I think you've convinced him that our family is ridiculous. Thank you for that."

Dean shrugged, contemplating falling into a coma. "Hey, I'm not the moose in the room. But you are dismissed."

* * *

><p>About Twenty Minutes Later<p>

Outside Gabriel's Apartment

* * *

><p>Gabriel had invited Sam up for a movie, but he wasn't entirely thrilled. Mostly because of the death face Dean gave him when he first got to their apartment. More than a <em>Why <em>_the __flying __fuck __are __you __even __here?_ face, it had a real threat behind it. It was the same sort of angry face he had when he was arguing with Sam. Something was wrong.

It took him a while to sort through his keys to get to the right one, and it had less to do with him not being able to find it and more with the fact that it was feeling like he and the tree behind him were starting to have a _Moment_. There'd been a lot of those in the past couple months and it was kind of starting to really freak him out. Gabriel didn't like Moments. They were uncomfortable and tense and they never really went away. Then Sam would leave and there'd be a little shadow of the Moment feeling being all Moment-y and just confusing.

Similarly, Gabriel hated that about-to-kiss feeling. But more than anything, he hated the Moments and their about-to-kiss-but-tough-luck-cause-it's-not-happening-you-poor-bastard feelings. Those were the bad feelings. And Jesus, he needed alcohol or chocolate or something because he was starting to sound like a crappy 80's power ballad on a broken record.

Sam's big hand landed on his shoulder, and Gabriel blinked in a slow, exasperated way. The hand pulled him a little, and he turned.

"Yeah? Just gimme a minute."

"Not this time." Sam pressed a hot open-mouthed kiss to his upper lip and Gabriel jumped back almost a foot. Then there were puppy eyes in this sad little confused look, and he cursed his reflexes for making him look like an asshole. He grabbed Sam's shirt and pulled him down for a real kiss. Sam pushed him up against the door, his tongue slipping inside his mouth, but that wasn't going to do. Not at all. Gabriel shoved him back, hard, until he collided with the opposite wall. His breath puffed sharply into Gabriel's mouth, and maybe it was just his imagination, but he could have sworn he felt a smile.

And then Gabriel stepped away, breathing a little harder, and turned away to actually _get __into __his __damn __apartment_. There was a noise, a change in air pressure, and he knew Sam was moving behind him, probably going to try to press him against the door, but no. They were going to get inside. Then maybe Gabriel would have his way with him. Maybe. He was still kind of pissed off that he possibly could have kissed him two months ago and been into the kinky phase of the sex by now. Granted, it would have been taking advantage in a sick way if he'd tried, but whatever. Ooh, but that was making it look bad. It was looking like the dark grey end of the moral spectrum.

He twisted out of the way and into his apartment before Sam could have him up against the door. Sam looked a little put out, but he would have to suck it up. Not like _that_. Well, maybe a little like that. And yeah, if there was a hell, he was certainly halfway through his admission form. Shit. Maybe he should've learned self control at some time in his life.

Sam pouted a little. "Stop playing hard to get. I already accidentally told my brother that we're dating, so you might as well give it up. We're semi-official already."

"And _that_ would be why Dean kept looking at me like he wanted to burn me slowly. _Thanks_."

"No problem." A little grin, and Sam walked towards him, crowding him closer to the couch. Sam started at his own top button. "Not that that's all out of the way, you and me are going to figure out how gay sex works."

Gabriel snorted to cover up the little spike of fear that went through his spine at that. They were getting in too fast, too deep, too soon. It had to be some sort of abuse to sleep with him anyway, but he couldn't help but get excited about the prospect. He was sick, that was for sure.

"Don't look at me like that." Sam was about halfway down his buttons, and Gabriel was keeping his eyes firmly on his face.

"I'm just enjoying the irony of two straight guys wanting to sleep with each other. This is kind of new territory, kiddo." It was. Sort of. He'd gotten over being attracted to Sam months ago, but actually doing something about it was a different matter entirely.

"Two things: one, don't call me 'kiddo' when I'm imagining you naked, and two, I'm well-adjusted. Just because I never swung in a dude-wise direction before doesn't mean it's impossible. I watched some gay porn for research and it's not all bad."

"Jesus," Gabriel breathed, partially because Sam had way more muscle under his shirt than he'd realized and partially because he just thought of Treebeard Sammy watching gay porn and maybe thinking about him and….Shit. There was no way to hide the wood he'd totally started growing. Awkward. "Maybe we shouldn't be flooring it on the test drive."

But then Sam kissed him again, just went for it, sort of nudged him back against the couch. Nope. Gabriel was going to have to teach him what he was into. They had plenty of time.

He flipped them around, pushed Sam down on the couch so he could get on top of him. Their mouths separated for a moment when Sam's ass hit the cushion and he had this surprised look.

"Christ, you're strong." Oh, he'd learn soon enough.

Gabriel grabbed a handful of floppy hair, brought their mouths together again. Oh yeah, Sam was going to learn. Gabriel had a bit of a possessive streak, and when it came to Sam, it was quickly being shown to be a mile deep. He kissed him like he wasn't ever going to let go of him. Sam responded messily, with an eager tongue and wandering hands. Those hands quickly found Gabriel's hips and pulled their hips flush together. The contact with what he realized was an erection was enough to make Gabriel groan a little.

Maybe it was juvenile, but he had a sudden, driving urge to make Sam come in his pants.

He was going to make it happen. He rutted against him, sucking on his tongue in a way that made Sam whimper a little. Gabriel pinched a nipple experimentally and was rewarded with a sudden thrust of the hips. Jeez, it was different having this, something hard and demanding beneath him. Didn't mean he didn't kind of like it. In a weird sort of way.

He rolled his hips, hard and low. From the noises Sam was making into his mouth, it was the right angle. Enough to cause the right sort of friction. Fortunate, since his cock was pressed between himself and Sam's hard stomach in just the right sort of way.

To be honest, the way he was getting off on it made him feel like he was about fourteen in a vaguely-normal life. It was a testament to how utterly fucked he was that he could feel an orgasm just a couple minutes away and no one was even naked. Sam bucked his hips, and Gabriel pretty much growled at him. No way was he gonna be in control here. No. He'd been a tease for months, and Gabriel was going to get something out of it. Just this once.

A second later, Sam bucked again, but he was gasping and shaking, just grinding his hips up without any sort of rhythm as he came. Gabriel gave up on fighting it and just rutted against him until he came and they sat like that, panting and boneless for a long time.

They would definitely do it again, preferably with more nudity, but whatever. They were going to get to do this whenever hey wanted because now it was different. Now that Sam had initiated and he didn't feel like a total creep, it was okay. But thinking more long-term was problematic.

"So, how pissed, exactly, was your brother about us? He did seem a little like he was going to kill me." Not that he'd have any luck there. Maybe if he had Cas help him, but that was still a maybe.

Sam kissed somewhere along his jaw sloppily, shrugging. "It wasn't totally about that. Dean has issues of his own. Admittedly, it was a bad night to bring you over, but I thought it might distract him a little from all of his other shit." Gabriel pulled away from his mouth and looked down at him, suddenly serious. Something was up. Something Dean hadn't told him about.

"What's wrong with your brother?"

"It's kind of a long story." Sam looked at him for a second, then sighed. "We were both in the army a long time ago. Dean…well, he was taken. They told me he was dead, but, well, they tortured him for four months. Dean was never really the same after. He never told me much about it, but it was pretty bad from what I understood. That was four years ago today. He gets a little upset on the anniversary."

"_Jesus_." Apparently, everyone had a few skeletons in the closet.

"Don't worry about it. Cas knows how to handle him, I think. He was the one who got him out in the first place. They sort of bonded. I think Cas imprinted on him like a baby duck. I trust Cas to calm him down." Gabriel rolled off of Sam, acutely aware of both the mess in his pants and how little he knew about Dean and Cas. It was some heavy shit Dean would've had to be in, especially if someone like Cas was sent in to rescue him. So not only did they have weird issues about being creepily in love with each other but not really, but they had whole heaps of angsty war shit to deal with. Gabriel knew how much all of that could fuck with a person. The poor bastards.

"I didn't know you were a soldier," Gabriel went with. He could tell, sort of. The way he held himself was always a bit military, but Sammy just never seemed to be the battle type.

"Yeah. It was a while ago. I don't like to think about it too much." Yeah, no shit. Gabriel had formed a pretty impressive mental block against most of his life for a good reason. It fucked a person up. Poor Sammy, with his angst and drug addiction and tree-like limbs. He needed someone to love him.

Shit, where did that come from? That wasn't Gabriel's job. He didn't mess around with that sort of thing. Not ever.

He was royally fucked and they hadn't even had grown-up sex yet. How pathetic.


	6. Chapter 5

**Possible trigger warning. References to torture and rape, PG-13 level of descriptive-ness.**

* * *

><p>Two Hours Later<p>

Dean and Cas' Apartment

* * *

><p>Dean was starting to seriously consider going to bed. That was worrying. Granted, he was about to fall asleep on the couch, so he might as well stop fighting how tired he was and just go to bed, but he couldn't. He hated to admit to himself, but he was scared.<p>

Cas was watching him. The TV was on, but Cas was watching him instead. Waiting for a sign that he was going to break, probably. No, that wasn't fair. Cas had this weird idea in him that Dean was _strong_. It was in the way he looked at him and spoke to him. He'd told him as much, but Dean wasn't interested in hearing it. Facts were, Dean broke, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. And sometimes he needed someone to hold the pieces together, but he never asked. Sometimes Cas would just do it anyway. But sometimes he'd listen when Dean told him to leave him alone, and that never went well.

"I'm going to go to bed," Dean said, and he waited for a reaction. Cas looked at him, but didn't say anything, just did his creepy staring-into-your-soul thing. Dean needed more than that. He needed verbal confirmation that Cas would come to him later, when he woke up. Because he was afraid. Of sleep and the nightmares that came with it. Not that he could ever admit it out loud.

There was nothing from Cas, though, so he got up and headed for his room. He stopped at the door, shutting his eyes against how weak he felt in that moment. How much he needed something he didn't want to ask for. It felt disgusting.

"Cas, please…" He stopped and made a face. No. He wasn't going to ask him. But then Cas' hand was on his shoulder and he could have cried, he needed it that much. Not that he would cry, not yet, not when he was awake and pretending to be in control of himself.

Dean went into his room, Cas just behind him. It would be normal. He wouldn't make a big deal of anything. He was just going to go to bed. Cas helped him with his boots, though. It was a simple, nice gesture, but Dean could barely handle it. He stood up, pulled off his jeans, really not caring since Cas had seen him next to naked, and, hell, full-frontal before. It didn't matter. Still, he kept himself covered as a courtesy.

And then he just sat on the edge of his bed.

Cas sat beside him, a reminder that he'd have to lay down eventually and sleep eventually. Comforting, still.

He couldn't do it.

He couldn't make himself lie down, so instead he started talking.

"That was really good pie, you know. It was Gabriel's recipe, sure, but actually making it and all, that could have gone terribly wrong, but it didn't. It was really good. And I mean, I know good pie. I've had a lot of pie in my time. Some of it was bad, some of it was dry, some of it was okay. But that was seriously the best pie I've ever had."

"_Dean_." Dean looked at him, knowing exactly what he meant. He was avoiding it. Badly. But what could he do? He didn't know how to sleep, to say what he was really thinking, none of it. "Dean, lie down."

And Dean did. Cas stretched out beside him. Dean just stayed on his back, staring up at the ceiling. There was no way he was going to be able to fall asleep. Not yet. He needed to be able to curl up against something comforting, but he'd never ask. Cas pulled the blanket scrunched at the bottom of his bed up over him. When he settled back down, their arms were touching, shoulders to the backs of their hands. They _never_ touched in bed. It was an unofficial rule between them, but Dean was glad that just this once, it was being broken. He needed to know that there was someone next to him.

…_.A smile, the most terrifying smile. It was the kind of smile that should have blood squelching from between its teeth. That smile meant strange worlds of pain. It meant agony…._

Dean woke up curled in a ball, sobbing dry, just sort of gasping for air. There were arms around him, and he almost bucked them off, but couldn't. Instead, he pressed his face forward, tasting cotton, and wished he could control himself. A hand smoothed his hair, and slowly, he began to get ahold of himself.

Ten minutes later, he was coiled up against Cas, breathing in little puffs against his chest. It was demeaning and embarrassing, but he couldn't make himself move away. Not yet. He still needed him. Besides, part of the ritual was still left incomplete. On these little anniversaries, when Cas came into his room at night because he was really, really screaming, they'd talk. Dean would basically mutter nonsense, about knives and thick boots and a wet rag halfway down his throat. But this time, Dean wasn't muttering. His mouth was still. There were words that wanted to spill from his throat, but they wanted to tell the whole story this time. From the humvee to acid that burned his shoulder, painful enough to make him black out.

"There were two vehicles in our little caravan. The first hit a bomb in the road. I don't remember much about the explosion, but our humvee flipped over, I think. I think I the other guys were dead, I don't remember, but then they pulled me out and I woke up somewhere else.

"They started with their fists. That first day, they'd beat me until I passed out, and then when I woke up, they'd beat me some more. Sometimes it was the bottom of my feet. That hurt more than I expected. It was relentless, but they were careful. They didn't break anything, I don't think. It felt like lasted forever. And then there was the second day. I…" Dean had to stop. He'd never told anyone, _anyone_ about that next day, or that fuzzy block of time a little later on. By the time they found him, he was pretty much healed and they had no reason to think that it was a possibility.

"I stopped keeping track of time that day. At least I think it was a day. It could have lasted years, but they…There were six of them. They all took turns. I know I passed out quite a few times, but there was always at least one of them there when I came to. Just using me like it didn't matter that I was unconscious. They just kept going and going, and then eventually they stopped. I couldn't move. It hurt too much and I was disgusting. They were all over me and I couldn't do a thing about it." Throughout all of this, Cas had gone very still, but hen Dean paused, he held him a little tighter.

"There was this-this man. He came to me after and just smiled at me. Told me that there were a lot more exciting things in store for me. And then I blacked out again, I think for a long time because I didn't hurt nearly so much." He grabbed onto Cas' shirt, pressed his face harder into it, eyes squeezed shut, to find some sort of strength. It was the one thing he never wanted to admit, the one thing he never wanted anyone to ever know about, and he told Cas. Cas who would probably leave him when he knew, but Dean had to tell someone. It was pushing out from his throat, and it wouldn't be ignored.

"I don't know how long it lasted, I just know that _he_ was there the whole time. Looking at me. Watching me. Mocking me." He pulled away, curled in on himself so he didn't have to see Cas at all. "They made me do things. They made me beg them and-and it was wrong and horrible, the things they did to me, and sometimes I can't get it out of my head."

He thought of how just thinking of sex made him physically sick for months after he got out. How he couldn't get it up for a year. How he could only even bear thinking about sleeping with women only if they were smaller than him and too passive, so he wouldn't have to worry about them taking control. How it was a fight to not go soft in the middle for a while, how a couple times he actually fucking faked an orgasm (made him feel like Meg fucking Ryan) because he had to get out of there, and that wasn't even vaguely normal. He felt broken.

"It felt like that went on forever, and then it stopped. They went back to hurting me, but more creatively. There was electricity and one time, a blow torch, and every now and then, that _man_ would say to me 'This can all stop. All you have to do is do it to someone else.' And I said no, over and over. So many times. After they drowned me for what could have been the hundredth time, and I was sick and tired of dying only to wake up, I broke. I said yes. I tried to block it out, but I still used knives on other people, I hurt them. I did terrible things. I'm a monster." He pushed himself further away from Cas. Maybe if he pretended it was his choice for Cas to leave, it would hurt so much when he did. Because he would leave. If not now, then soon. It was only a matter of time.

"You are a far better person than you give yourself credit for."

Cas had no right to say it, but Dean was too tired, too weak, to argue. And just a little bit, he wanted it to be true.

* * *

><p>Cas wasn't supposed to be there in the morning. He was supposed to have left quietly while Dean slept. He wasn't supposed to still be there, a warm body just behind Dean's, with his fists curled up against his chest. He should have run screaming. This was unscripted reality, bright and strange. This was not how the story went.<p>

Dean turned over onto his other side.

Cas was asleep. It was the first time Dean had ever seen him asleep. In four years, he'd never once seen Cas asleep. He knew that he must have slept at some time, but Dean was never there to catch him in the act. But here he was, those eerie eyes shut tight, mouth in a little frown, brow slightly furrowed. Dean had expected he'd smooth out when he slept, relax into a peaceful sort of expression. Nope. He looked concerned, stressed. People shouldn't sleep like that. Cas shouldn't, out of all people.

There was something really strange about looking at him like that. Something uncomfortable. Maybe it was that he was looking at Cas and didn't feel uncomfortable. Feeling uncomfortable when looking at him was such a normal thing that it was really more comfortable than uncomfortable. Cas' eyes always had sort of an x-ray effect, and Dean was used to looking at him and feeling buck naked in too many ways, but now, with his eyes closed, it was like someone turned off his superpowers and made Cas a normal boy again. It was kind of scary. After all they'd been through - sand and battle and blood and blood and blood - here was someone who looked like a nerd or something, a thin man with full lips and a permanent five o'clock shadow, and yeah, he looked troubled, but not like he could take out an entire squadron single-handedly. Because he had. Dean had seen it.

No, this man looked human.

The human opened his eyes, and for a split-second, he looked like steel, coiled himself to attack, and then he relaxed, recognized the face in front of him.

"I'm sorry for sleeping. Have you been awake long?"

"No," Dean lied. "I haven't." Cas shouldn't apologize for sleeping, but there were a lot of things people did that they shouldn't, and it was a small thing.

Cas' eyes felt familiar in the way they were taking him apart.

"You're still here." Dean didn't mean to say it, he didn't, but it kind of pushed out of his mouth before he realized it wanted out.

"Why wouldn't I be?" The tone held a cocked head that wasn't really possible because they were laying down, but Dean heard it all the same. It was there. But it didn't make sense, really, that Cas didn't understand that it would be normal to run away. Dean was damaged goods of the worst sort, the sort that would burn and destroy everything for miles. That was all he was.

Dean got up, unable to form a real response or prolong the utter _gay_ of the moment, and started getting dressed. He kept his back turned to Cas but wasn't such a prude that he didn't change his boxers in front of him. It wasn't like Cas hadn't inadvertently seen him naked at some point, and nudity was one of those things you just got over in the military.

Dressed in clean jeans and a t-shirt, Dean sat on his bed to pull on socks. "I'm feeling like breakfast. Pastries." He put enough emphasis on the word for it to be mistaken for casual by most, but Cas would know that he meant particular pastries. From a particular bakery. With a particular baker. Who may or may not end up in one of his own ovens by lunch.

"I'll be ready in fifteen." The bed leveled out when Cas got up. Dean glanced at his alarm clock. It was nearly seven. A little early, then, but he never slept long on these nights.

Dean shrugged on his jacket just before a wet-haired Cas emerged from his room, dressed in his usual suit and tie. He adjusted the tie before they got out of the door, and Dean saw the chain of his dog tags (which they both still wore, reasons they never chose to examine) and remembered when Cas used to have two beaded cords around his neck, and when he got rid of the second and the crucifix on it on a cold night when the shit falling down around their heads got to be chest-deep. It was a strange memory, odd and sharp-edged, but Dean shook off his frown as he held open their front door.

Dean stood in line, contemplating which baked good he was going to shove down Gabriel's throat first. A bear claw, maybe. The only thing better would be a real bear claw. Attached to a bear. Preferably an angry one.

When he made it up to the counter, Dean glared and said, "I'll have a cinnamon chip muffin, a chocolate croissant, and a giant cup of _fuck __you_."

Gabriel looks completely unfazed. "Let's not make a scene. I have customers." Dean looked around. There were in fact, people there, and he did sort of want to spare them the image of the pain he'd be bringing to Gabriel.

"Then why don't you find your goddamn assistant so we can settle this upstairs?" Gabriel rolled his eyes, but Dean kept glaring. "And I want my fucking pastries. I have a food hangover from that pie last night, and I want a damn muffin. And, you know, I'm sure Cas is hungry, too."

"JO!" Gabriel yelled, turned around towards the racks of bread and baked goods that separated the front of the store from the ovens in back. A blonde girl, new, appeared with a full tray of croissants, wearing an apron. Dean winked at her. She smirked and rolled her eyes at him. "Can you man the front for a few?"

"Of course," she said, putting the tray down.

Dean leaned over the counter and gave her the smolder. "Hey. I'm Dean. Pleasure to meet you."

"Come on, Lothario," Gabriel said, and dragged him away by his arm.

"Dude, what happened to Nick?" Dean asked when they made it to the kitchen.

"I realized that he was actually Satan."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What, he insulted the integrity of your banana bread?"

"Worse. Told me his brownies were better than mine." Dean winced; Gabriel's brownies were a bit of a pride point of his. They'd won competitions. They were like every good and wonderful thing in the world, only with more chocolate. To insinuate that any were better was to sign your own death warrant.

"Well, I approve of the replacement. Girl is _fine_."

"Yeah, and she can kick your ass six ways to Sunday. And if she doesn't, her mom will, so don't screw around with her."

Dean rolled his eyes, then remembered his purpose. "So, let's get back to the thing where you're sleeping with my brother and didn't tell me. And from there we can maybe move on to the multitude of ways I will _end __you_."

"Multitude? Borrow that vocab word from Cas?" Dean glared; it was true. "Anyway, it isn't what you think. I haven't been carrying on some secret affair with your beloved Sasquatch. Not really."

"_Not __really_? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? He's weak, Gabriel, you know that. You know you have power over him. Hell, he's probably trying to get a discount or something! You know what he's like when he's strung out!" By the end of it, Dean was yelling, despite Cas' hand on his shoulder. Dammit, he might not have been able to necessarily beat Gabriel in a fight, but he'd beat him in a yelling match, no problem.

"Keep it down, idiot. If you wake him up, you're gonna have a hell of a time trying to explain why you're here."

"_He__'__s __here_?" Dean's vision went red and he managed to grab Gabriel by the apron strings.

"Yeah, and the tree needs his rest. So keep it the fuck down." Dean glared for a second, then a thought came to him and he blanched, pushing himself away from Gabriel.

"Tell me, with absolutely no detail whatsoever, why it's so important he sleeps?"

Gabriel smirked. "He has a class at nine that he's struggling a little in. We didn't leave your house until late last night. Someone has to make sure he sleeps long enough to get on the dean's list. That's all."

"Oh." Dean looked down; he hadn't known that Sam was struggling in any of his classes, but, granted, he hadn't asked. "I didn't even know that Sam played for the other team. Hell, I didn't know you did. I thought I was pretty sure on that point." They may have, in the past months, discovered a companionable appreciation for Busty Asian Beauties and Casa Erotica that transcended the bounds of their working relationship. Dean never got any other sort of vibe from him.

"It's complicated, alright? Neither of us is really _gay-_gay. And it's not like it's been some drawn-out, super-secret Days of Our Lives thing. We weren't sleeping together when we were over at your place last night. _Believe __me_, we were purely platonic at that point."

"_Were_? I don't like past tense, Gabriel, not from you, not right now."

"Okay, so one thing led to another, but you don't want to hear the details, do you? So let's just settle it: yes, your brother and I are having stupid PG-13 sex, no, I didn't lie to you about it, no, I'm not taking advantage of him because Sammy's a big boy now and he can make his own decisions. Anyway, he knows I don't do discounts for _anything_. So calm your voluptuous man-tits and let me get you something for your low blood sugar."

Dean gave him the evil eye, but didn't reject the muffin offered to him, just spun on his heels with an air of defeat.

"Come on, Cas, let's go. I need to go have Sam's sexual identity crisis for him."

Cas took a bite of his croissant. "Drop me off at work on your way to the liquor store." It was one of those times when Dean wasn't sure if he was joking or serious. Both were equally likely.

"Don't harass my assistant unless you want your ass handed to you," Gabriel called after them, but Dean didn't pay him any mind. When he passed by Jo on their way out, he gave her The Nod. She was way too pretty to be working for Gabriel, that much was certain.


	7. Chapter 6

Roughly the Same Time

The Impala

* * *

><p>"I don't like it," Dean said. His hands gripped the wheel tight, contemplating the neck he wanted to wring.<p>

"Sam is twenty-six, correct?" Dean glanced over to the passenger seat. Cas was giving him the typical _I__'__m __Cas __and __I __can __read __your __soul __like __an __open __book_ look.

"Yeah. So?"

"He is, by all definitions, an adult. Capable of making his own decisions. Yes, it perhaps seems somewhat suspicious from Sam's end, but I trust Gabriel to not be too morally lax." Cas did have super-soldier spidey senses, so Dean would at least mostly trust his judgement there. He let it calm him down a little. "He comes over sometimes while you're at the shop. We talk. It seems they've been, what is it, hanging around? For some time, from what I've understood. Gabriel was always careful not to say too much, as I'm sure he assumed I would tell you anything too strange. However, my particular skill set may have led to some revelations. They've been seeing each other several times a week for several months. I would say they've become friends."

"That's…that don't really sit right with me."

Cas sighed. "I know. But _you_ know Gabriel well enough to trust him to look after Sam. He keeps him clean and informs you of any troubles he might encounter. He's a good man, by your own definition."

"Yeah, but Sam doesn't know that. For all he knows, Gabriel's a half-pint drug dealer with a weird sense of humor. A _drug __dealer_. And Sam's sleeping with him anyway? Sam's not even gay!" Sure, he joked about it all the time, but Sam joked about him and Cas every chance he got, so it was only fair.

"Dean, I believe you have a fascination for labeling people, especially concerning sexual orientation. It isn't very productive." He said something under his breath that sounded like "_Or__honest_.". Dean glanced at him; he was right. Dean hated it when people said he was gay or whatever with Cas (really, gay was the best of it - he'd heard the term _soulmates_ thrown around too many times for him to be able to not gag at the word, in any context). Other people didn't understand what he and Cas had. The whole codependency thing started with Sam, then Sam couldn't understand him as well as he used to, but Cas was there, standing in the growing wreckage of Dean's life. Cas could always be depended on. He was safe. He was strong enough not to break. Dean didn't deserve him at all, but he had him. And Cas needed him to survive in the real world, at least for the time being. There was nothing romantic or sexual about it. It might have been easier if it were.

(_Dean sometimes considered _it_, in the wee hours of the morning. What it would be like if he and Cas did have the ease of a romantic relationship. If he could have all of his needs satisfied by one single person. He wouldn't have to half-heartedly check out a bar for a chick or wink at every pretty girl he saw. He could just forget about it all and come home to someone he could sleep with if he wanted to, someone he could kiss just because he felt like it, and curl up against for no real reason at all. _

_Too bad neither he or Cas had any interest in each other._)

"Maybe you're right," he said, his mind hanging out in other places.

Thing was, the more he thought about it, the more he knew that he needed to make sure that Cas wouldn't leave him. Sure, they couldn't perfectly fulfill each other's needs, but they could get damn close.

After he dropped Cas off at work, Dean went and bought the ring.

* * *

><p>A Week Later<p>

Dean and Cas' Place

* * *

><p>The ring had been burning a hole in his jacket pocket all week, and Dean still hadn't figured out how to do it. He knew that, sham marriage or not, it was important to do these things right. Getting down on one knee and all of that. That was how you did it.<p>

Too bad he couldn't find the right moment.

Sure, there were plenty of times when they were alone, but he couldn't just drop to a knee while they were watching TV, or at dinner or something. That was awkward. Way too awkward.

It was pretty much horrible. Proposing a permanent platonic union was tough shit.

The front door opened.

"Hey, Cas." Dean, on the couch, rolled his head to the side to look at the doorway.

"Sorry, Dean-o. Your lover boy's still at the office, as far as I know." Dean sighed. Gabriel, like Cas, never used keys and had a habit of popping up on a whim. "What's got you all…mopey?"

Dean sigh, rubbing a hand across his face. "Fucking hell. Grab me a beer so I can at least pretend I still have my balls."

Garbiel laughed, heading to the kitchen. "Trouble in paradise?" He came back with a couple of beers, handed one to Dean, and flopped on the couch.

"I'll tell you, but you've gotta promise not to laugh." Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, okay, I guess you can't make that promise. But in my defense, it was Sam's idea in the first place. So blame him."

"Now you've piqued my interest. Keep talking."

"I'm, well, I'm going to pop the question. To Cas."

"Yeah, well, what else?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I want to marry him for the benefits-"

"Don't we all?-"

"Shut up. I mean for taxes and insurance and hospitals and all of that. It's not like I'm ever going to want to marry someone for real, and Cas is too socially retarded to want to anyway. I thought it was shit when Sam told me, but the more I think about it, it makes sense."

Gabriel looked at him like he was a complete idiot.

"Yeah, I know, Sam probably meant it as some sort of girly matchmaking strategy, but I think it might not be completely stupid. Surprisingly. I just haven't gotten around to asking him yet. I got a damn ring and everything."

Gabriel just started laughing, hard enough that he had to set his beer down. Dean watched him for a moment, then finished off his beer, glaring tiredly. After a minute, Gabriel wiped his eyes.

"You are the most ridiculous person I've ever met."

"Shut your cakehole. I didn't want your opinion."

"Yeah, but you asked for it anyway." Gabriel looked at him seriously. "Just take him out to dinner tonight, and when you come back, just ask him." He snorted. "I can't believe I'm giving you relationship advice. I feel like fucking Cosmo."

"Ha ha. You're hilarious. Really." He went to get another beer. When he came back into the room, he said, "Hey, why are you here anyway?"

"Peace offering. I realized you were still paying me to look after Sam. I've got a grand for the past couple months. Didn't seem right keeping it since, well, you know." He pulled a bundle of bills out of his pocket, tossed them at Dean. "I'll look after him, though. I mean, obviously. Not that it's hard not to, considering that he's built like the Chrysler Building."

"Are you trying to buy Sam off of me? He may be a woman, but he's not a mail-order bride."

"Oh, he's definitely _not_ a woman, _let __me __tell __you_." Dean throws up a little, but Gabriel's grinning wide, well-aware of the impact of what he said. "And I'm not paying for him. It's kind of weird for you to pay me to do something I've been doing because I…because I just did it anyway. I'm not a total jerk."

"Yeah," Dean said levelly. "You're alright."

The front door opened, and Dean looked over. Cas.

"Hey, Cas. What's up?"

"The ceiling, as always. Hello, Gabriel. I did not expect to see you here. I'm glad you've made your peace."

"Actually, I was about to leave," Gabriel said, getting up. "I got what I came here for." He winked at Dean before he left and made a crude gesture behind Cas' back. Of course.

"How do you feel about going out for dinner?" Cas, who'd shrugged off his trench coat, reached for it again.

"Now?"

"Yeah, I mean, sure. Whatever. Might as well." Dean didn't want it all to happen so fast, but it was, and he'd fucking run with it like a pro.

* * *

><p>Dinner turned out to be cheeseburgers at the diner they found the week they moved (really, finding a good diner had been Dean's first order of business, but that was one of those things that didn't need saying). It was where they usually went. Just after they sat down, Dean idly wondered if Gabriel meant something a little fancier, but he shrugged it away; it wasn't a date or anything.<p>

Meg came over to refill their waters, and Dean glared at her. She had a habit of winking at Cas and blatantly flirting with him. Sure, Cas had no idea what was going on, but Dean knew she was a total bitch. He got that feeling from her. He never tipped more than ten percent when she was their waitress, on principle.

Cas was finishing up his burger, chewing thoughtfully. They traded work-talk out of habit, but the conversation was largely kept to a minimum. Dean was too distracted to make an effort. Because, well, fuck, he was going to propose. To really go through with it. It was kind of incredibly scary. Dean didn't do commitment. Not at all. It wasn't his thing, not by a long shot, but hell, he'd already asked Cas to move in with him. He'd already pretty much given a one-finger salute to his commitment phobia on Cas' behalf. Might as well go for it.

Dean pushed open the door to their apartment with a sigh. He was going to do it. Before he went to bed, he was going to fucking _ask __a __man __to __marry __him. __Jesus_. It sounded so weird in his head.

"I'm gonna grab a beer," he said. He needed a lot more than just a beer, but they were out of real liquor for the time being (he had a sinking feeling that Cas poured some of his whiskey down the sink when he wasn't looking). He stopped halfway to the kitchen, though, and took off his jacket, pulled the little box from the right pocket. Cas was hanging up his own coat. He tugged his suit jacket down a little, loosened his tie so it went crooked.

_Fuck_, Dean thought. _Now __or __never._

"Hey, uh, Cas?" Cas looked at him curiously. He had to sound pretty pathetic, but whatever. "We've known each other for a really long time, haven't we?" He edged a little closer, slowly. "I mean, it's been a _really __long __time_. I don't usually know people for long. I mean, Sammy, sure, but not other people. And, you know, it's been pretty great. Well, that's a lie - it was kind of shitty at first, but now, I guess I kind of like the thing we got going on."

"I am quite comfortable with our arrangement as well." Cas looked pretty calm, but earnest. His eyes were kind of bright.

"Yeah. And, I guess what I'm trying to say is…." Dean lowered himself to one knee and popped out that damn ring, tried to put on a classic Dean Winchester smile. "Will you marry me? So we can put each other down as spouses on taxes and the census and stuff? And if you ever get sick, I wanna be able to be there, you know? So will you be my No-Homo-Husband?"

There was a split second where it was silent and Cas looked pleasantly surprised, and then there was laughter, loud and strange, from the couch. Dean's head jerked to the side and he was met with two red faces hanging over the side of the couch, laughing hysterically. Fucking Gabriel and Sam.

Gabriel was practically wheezing with laughter, but through it, Dean could make out, "Oh my god- Didn't want to ruin the moment- but- so priceless- your faces-" and then all coherency dissolved. Dean got up, strode over to them angrily,

"_What __the __hell __are __you __two __doing __here?_" he growled. He smacked them both upside the head for good measure, but they only laughed harder.

Sam, his face pinched up with tears running down his cheeks, choked out, "No-Homo-Husband!" and they both laughed that much harder.

"I'm going to kill you both. Slowly. No one will ever find the bodies. I swear-" Cas' hand on his arm made him stop, count to ten, calm down enough to go get a beer and regain a little bit of dignity. "Goddammit! I hate you both." When he came back to the living room, Sam and Gabriel had stopped laughing and were trying to catch their breath. Cas looked very uncomfortable.

Gabriel looked at Dean and smirked.

"Why are you even here?"

"You're kidding, right? I wouldn't miss it for the world, and it's not like I wouldn't bring Sam with me. You proposing to Cas? That's comedy _gold_."

"Fuck you. Get out. Both of you." Sam and Gabriel, laughing again, clutched at each other as they made it to the door. Dean fell into the couch, burying his face in his hands. It was the first time he really felt _mortified_ in his life. Of course those assholes would be there for the most humiliating moment of his life. _Of __course._

A weight settled into the couch next to him, and a line of nearby warmth could be felt along his thigh and side.

In familiar gravel tones, "My answer is yes. If the option is still open."

Dean's hand slid down his face and he peeked at Cas with one eye. Just looked at him for a moment or two. He had just a hint of a smile around his lips and warmth in his eyes. Dean could stand seeing that face everyday for the rest of his life.

"Where do you wanna tie the knot?" he asked after a while.

Cas' face turned skeptical and confused. "I'm fairly certain it's possible to tie knots in most places." Of course. Classic Cas.

"It's an expression. I mean, where do you wanna get married? It's gonna be an out-of-state trip no matter what. There's nothing really in Iowa, and Massachusetts is kind of boring too. Really, everywhere's boring. Like Vermont? Who wants to go to Vermont? No one. It's cold and empty." He was babbling, but whatever. His life was fucking tough; he'd babble if he wanted to.

"On the television set, I saw something about New York legalizing same-sex marriage." Dean thought about it. There _were_ things to do in New York. The city might be interesting.

"Yeah. Let's go with that." He thought for a second, then blanched. "How the fuck are we supposed to plan a wedding? I mean, I wasn't thinking about anything too big, but I don't even know where to start. Shit, women do this kind of thing. Women and really, really gay men." He cocked his head. "Maybe I'll talk to Sammy. I mean, do you care about the actual wedding bit? I was thinking more of a civil ceremony. But if you wanna go for the church and the dress with the train and the tiara, just know that I'll be taking pictures."

Cas gave him a blank, confused sort of look. "I have never seen a wedding before." Well, that sucked. They were both basically going in blind.

"Awesome. Well, we don't have to figure it out right now. No rush."

They sat, then, in silence for a time.

Dean thought about the thing he was most looking forward to: the bachelor party. He would be in charge of that, and it would be awesome. As much as he would like to do that in Las Vegas, that would be a detour on their way to New York, and since they'd be driving up (no way he was flying, fuck that) that would mean having the party, like, a week before the wedding itself. The whole point was to have the worst hangover in the history of the world when you were standing at the altar, as well as a few suspicious assorted reminders from the night before. At least that was what he got from the movies.

* * *

><p>He woke up to hands smoothing his hair. The TV was on, low in the background, a movie he recognized as Star Trek, the new one, that Sam had a weird fascination with (he blearily recalled Sam's bitch-voice saying, "Don't you <em>see<em>? This is _you_ and this is _Cas_!" and Dean responding with something like "Yeah, they're best friends" much to Sam's annoyance) and those hands were just idly stroking his hair. Like he was a lap dog or something. Kind of fitting, since his head was in a lap. Cas' lap, of course.

It was kind of gay, but then, they were technically kind of engaged now, so he figured he couldn't really make a big fuss about it for a while.

An explosion started to blossom on screen, and Cas' arm shot out, remote in hand, to turn down the volume more. It was his left, and Dean caught the glint of the ring on his finger. Silly.

Dean turned onto his back, startling Cas just a little bit, but he grabbed Cas' left hand before he could really do anything. He slid the ring off his finger, and Cas tensed.

"Come on, give me your other hand. You don't wear it on this one until we seal the deal." The correct hand was offered, and Dean put the ring on the right finger. "There. And I know it's kind of small, but I kind of figured only bitches cared about how big the rock was. You aren't a bitch."

"It's fine." Dean realized he was still holding on to Cas' hand and let go quickly. Bromance was one thing, but he wasn't really into hand holding or any of that nonsense.

"Well, I'm gonna go to bed. I'm beat," he said, and got up. "'Night."

When Dean pulled the covers up, he could have sworn he felt phantom fingers in his hair.


	8. Chapter 7

When Dean woke up, he immediately made mental plans to head to Gabriel's with Cas. It was the sad state of things that he would more likely that not find Sam there. They needed to have a meeting. His immediate plan was to somehow guilt Gabriel and Sam into doing all the wedding planning. Of course, odds were, they'd make some sort of fluffy, flowery affair with _him_ wearing the dress, just to spite him. They were such douchebags.

Cas was awake when Dean had dressed and showered. It was a Saturday, their mutual day off, so Cas was wearing the AC/DC shirt Dean gave him for Christmas a few years ago and a pair of jeans. He didn't look like he planned on going anywhere that day, then.

"How do you feel about hitting up Gabriel for breakfast?" Dean asked, leaning against the kitchen counter, where Cas was preparing the coffee maker.

"The suggestion is concerning, but I will admit that I'd prefer not to make myself breakfast."

"Sweet."

Dean checked the clock on the stove and realized it was after eleven. Jeez. They'd both overslept a bit, then. Well, at least the bakery wouldn't be too crowded.

* * *

><p>Dean gave Jo the old wink when he got up to the register. "Hey, gorgeous."<p>

"Don't even try, Dean. Both Sam and Gabriel warned me about you. They told me to tell you about my black belt, but I told them the shotgun beneath the register was scary enough. So don't be getting any ideas. Now, how can I help you?"

"I see how it is." He smirked, maybe smoldered a little. "Four kolaches, two coffees, and a chat with the boss man, if you don't mind."

After she handed him the two plates and cups and took his money, she said, "Gabriel's in back. He's had me sampling cake flavors all morning, so enter at your own risk."

Dean handed Cas his food and cup. "Great." They fueled up on caffeine and ate at one of the little tables before heading back to the kitchen.

They were met by Gabriel, covered in flour, rushing around like a maniac. Sam sat on a stool with a spatula with chocolate-looking batter on it, licking it off. Dean pretended he didn't see that Gabriel had some of the same colored batter smeared around his mouth because that sent his thoughts to places he didn't want them to go.

"Hey, assholes," Dean offered in greeting. Gabriel looked and him and pretty much beamed.

"Perfect! Sam, hand them cupcakes!" Dean was a little concerned, but Sam grabbed a couple of large-ish plates and put cupcake halves on them, six different ones. He and Cas each got a plate. Gabriel started whisking something, but watched them eagerly.

"What's all this?"

"I thought about make full-sized cakes, but with cupcakes I can actually sell the rest after you try them, so-"

"Why all the cakes?"

Gabriel gave him an _Are __you __an __idiot?_ look. "How else am I supposed to figure out the best flavor for your wedding cake? Duh. Eat up."

* * *

><p>Thirty minutes later, Dean was too full to not lay down and still unsure about the weirdness of pistachio cake with a white chocolate-cherry frosting.<p>

They'd migrated upstairs. To the couch, in Dean's case. He wouldn't think too much about the empty cans of whipped cream that Gabriel quickly removed from the coffee table or the way Sam smirked. Nope, wasn't gonna think about it. He was, though, going to sprawl all over the place and bemoan his fullness. He must have eaten at least eight cupcakes, all halved and in different flavors. Cas, who hadn't eaten the full halves and instead opted for a fork and little dainty bites, was much better off. Dean was not very fond of him for that.

"I hate all of you," Dean sighed.

Gabriel shrugged. "I can live with that. Now, what did you think of the mocha-hazlenut? Or was the amaretto more your thing?"

"If I hear any more about those cupcakes, I _will_ throw up. And I'll aim for you."

"Perhaps we should focus on something else," Cas said. "The reason we're here in the first place: Dean thinks that you both will be able to help us plan the wedding."

Sam let out a puff of air. "Well, I'm not sure how much help I'll be, but my roommate's girlfriend plans weddings. Kind of. It's complicated."

"It's better than nothing," Dean said.

"Yeah. About that. She's kind of…um, it's hard to explain."

"Do I look like Jennifer Lopez to you?" Dean asked angrily. "I can't plan a fucking wedding, and Cas doesn't even know what one looks like! So call her."

Sam sighed, but went into the other room, pulling out his phone.

"Great. So that's one less thing to worry about. Sam can be on wedding detail, and Gabriel, maybe you can help me plan the bachelor party. It's going to be epic."

"Fine, but no tigers. _Believe __me_, they _do __not_ like pepper. That movie lied." Dean gave him a weirded-out look. For some reason, he didn't doubt that Gabriel had experience with tigers. "Where are we doing all of this, anyway?"

"New York, New York. Concrete jungle and all of that."

"You know, I know a guy in New York. He's shady at best, but he's got the hook-up for literally anything you could possibly want, and he owes me. Big time. He could get you a kick-ass hotel room for a steal, if he's still what he used to be."

"Good to know. Shit, I didn't even think about that." Dean sighed. "This is going to be a nightmare."

"If you'd like to reconsider, I would understand," Cas said, and Dean looked at him. Obviously, he was deluded.

"No. Don't be an idiot. This is just going to be weird and a little shitty until we get it all sorted out. Then everything will be back to normal. Don't worry about it."

Gabriel snorted. "Please tell me you'll have a proper honeymoon when this is all done with. Be fruitful and multiply and all of that. I'm telling you, butt sex is a wonderful thing."

"Oh, _God_," Dean said, his face screwing up. "So many images I didn't need. Never talk about…_that_ ever again. Ever." Gabriel laughed.

"You're so easy. Really, I don't even know why I try."

Sam joined them from the other room. "Okay, so I told Becky and Chuck to meet at your place at seven." He looked at Gabriel. "I had to promise her you'd be there. I'm sorry. You know how she is."

"If it might help contribute to the scarring of Dean's fragile, hetero-normative psyche, I won't complain."

"So we're having a dinner party at our place?" Dean asked, annoyed that it couldn't be at Gabriel's. Since he had no plans for moving from the couch for at least a week. But hey, it kind of was _their_ wedding, so he couldn't really bitch too much.

"Yeah, just, be cool, okay?"

Dean didn't know at the time what that meant, so he didn't know to worry.

* * *

><p>Around Seven P.M.<p>

Dean and Cas' Place

* * *

><p>Dean was not prepared for what came through the door. Sure, there was Chuck, scruffy, awkward Chuck, but the hell-beast standing next to him (as Dean would come to know her) was not what he imagined.<p>

She looked nice, for one. A little nerdy, blonde, and really…_excited_. Which was kind of creepy, but Dean wasn't going to hate if she had enthusiasm for planning their wedding.

"You must be Dean. Not really what I expected, but whatever. I can work with it." She looked a little behind him. "Cas?" And then she let out a weird squeak-scream that was kind of creepy. "Where's Sam?" She barreled past him, and Chuck gave Dean an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, man. Becky can be a handful," he whispered. "Just be glad you aren't Sam."

"Why-" Dean turned, though, and stopped. Becky was standing with a creepily gleeful expression in front of Sam and Gabriel.

"Please, Sam? Just once? I swear, I'll leave you alone."

Sam sighed. "Fine. _Once_." He rolled his eyes and looked at Gabriel. Dean smacked a hand over his eyes when, for some reason, they started macking on each other.

"Jesus, get a room!" he said.

And then he saw Becky's face.

She was way, _way_ too excited. It wasn't right. It was creepy and weird. She _wanted_ to see them suck face. How weird.

Trying to clear that idea from his mind, he gestured at the dining table. "Pizza. Come and get it." He went into the kitchen to grab a bottle of Jack, both Chuck's liquor of choice and the only thing in the house strong enough to get Dean himself through the night. He poured them both a glass and brought the bottle to the table. Chuck was grateful.

"So, Sam said you need help with a wedding?" Becky asked, taking a small bite of pizza.

"Yeah. Do you have experience with planning weddings?"

"Some. I was my sister's maid of honor and I plan weddings for…_people_ sometimes. I've planned weddings for seven couples." She grinned in an off-putting way. "It's going to cost you, but we'll talk about that later. You wanna see what I got?" She put down her pizza and pulled a binder from her bag.

"Well, I mean, we're not going need anything to big or girly. It's not like one of us is gonna be in a dress or anything."

She looked at him with a little smile. "I only plan weddings for gay couples. No dresses involved."

Dean nodded, getting the creep just a little. "Oh. Is there a…a big market for that?"

"If you know where to look." Her tone was disturbing. Like she kidnapped people and forced them to act out weddings for her own amusement. Dean was getting the king of bad feelings about her.

"Alright then….Uh, so, I guess I should warn you, we're both pretty…masculine, I guess? So no baby's breath or roses or whatever that crap is. I listen to Metallica and Cas could kick Chuck Norris' ass halfway around the world. He's like Batman in a trench coat. So pansy shit ain't gonna work."

"I don't know who Chuck Norris is," Cas said quietly to him, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Soon, we'll watch Walker, Texas Ranger. Then you'll understand."

Becky was looking between them, smiling brightly. "I think I have a few ideas. You're gonna have to give me a little while to flesh them out, but I'm thinking I have a plan." She clapped like a little girl, only far more devious. "_Now_. Payment."

Sam put a hand on Dean's arm, like he was holding him back, and burst in before he could say anything with, "Look, it's gotta be something else."

"Sorry, Sammy. You know how I work. If they want it, they're going to have to pay for it. Unless you want to step in on Cas' behalf?" Sam blanched. _What __the __hell__'__s __going __on?_ Dean wondered.

"No way. Just…go easy on them."

"Okay, what's all of this about?" Dean asked, annoyed that they were pretty much speaking in code. "We'll pay you. I mean, we're not the richest people in the world, but we'll figure it out."

"I don't usually deal in money," Becky said, leaning forward with a smile. "I'd pick love over money any day. All I ask is for a kiss every now and then."

Dean looked at Chuck, startled, but got no response. "You want me to…kiss you? That's kind of-"

"Not _me_, Dean. Cas, of course. I'm not asking for anything hot and heavy, just-"

"For God's sake, _why_?" Dean growled, suddenly a little offended. "We're not like that, anyway. Cas and I aren't dating or anything. It's a marriage of convenience, or whatever they call it. We're not gay or any of that."

Becky looked shocked, then turned to Sam and glared. "You _lied_ to me."

"No, I didn't," Sam defended, and he sure as hell was going to have a lot to answer for, "I just…didn't tell you everything." Becky narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, then looked back at Dean and Cas. There was something frightening in her eyes.

"Well, payment is payment, and that's my fee. Pay it, or find help elsewhere."

Dean's first thought was something along the lines of _evil __bitch_. And then he actually thought about it. Real wedding planners charged a shit-load, didn't they? He and Cas weren't exactly rolling in the dough. A kiss, maybe more than one, every now and then? In comparison, it wasn't really a lot she was asking for. Besides that, Dean was comfortable in his sexuality. He knew he wasn't gay, he knew Cas wasn't gay, so it would just be a not-gay kiss between two men. Like if he kissed Sam, like when they were little, little kids. It was just…whatever. No big deal. Yeah.

"Fine." He heard Sam sputter, but he ignored it, turning to face Cas. "Don't expect tongue." He laid a hand on Cas' shoulder and leaned in. It wasn't until their lips met that he realized he hadn't actually confirmed with Cas that it was okay. Oh well. He wasn't pulling back. They just sat there for a moment. Cas' lips were kind of dry because he didn't understand the idea of chapstick, and Dean could feel stubble against the bow of his upper lip, but whatever. He wasn't thinking about it. It was just a still, chaste, no-homo kiss between him and his best friend. Whatever.

He pulled back after counting to fifteen (better make the bitch happy so she didn't ask for something better) and sat back in his chair, shrugging.

"Happy?" he asked, reaching for another slice of pizza. He took a big bite and chewed loudly. It was weirdly loud in the silence of of the room. He looked at Sam, who looked like he was a mixture of shocked and frustrated. His mouth was opening and closing like he meant to say something. What a girl.

"It's not a one-time deal thing, you know," she said. "Later on, I'll ask again."

He grimaced. "I got that. Why, though? Why would you want to see a couple of dudes lockin' lips? That's pretty weird." She looked very, very annoyed at the question. Why, Dean didn't know; it was totally valid.

"Tell me, Dean, have you ever watched lesbian porn?"

He shrugged, smirking a little. "Yeah, sure."

"Why?"

"Because chicks are hot. Take the dick out of the equation, and it's super hot. All dudes like lesbians."

"So why is it so weird that I, as a straight woman, want to do the same thing? I'm just taking the vag out of the equation, like you said." Dean thought about it for a second, then shrugged. He conceded the point. It made sense.

"Yeah, I get you. But why us?"

"If you could have Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis make out in front of you, would you?" Dean grinned. Black Swan was _hot_.

"Which one does that make me?"

"Mila Kunis, but with prettier eyes.

Dean nodded, considering it. He'd take it. She was super hot.

Then finally, with a tinge of anger, Sam burst out, "I can't believe you just did that, Dean! I thought you two weren't-"

"We _aren__'__t_, Jesus. It was like kissing you, which I've _totally __done_."

"Yeah, when we were kids! You didn't even ask him or anything."

Dean rolled his eyes and looked at Cas. "Cas, are you grievously offended that I laid one on you? Did your fragile sexual orientation feel threatened?" Cas was totally blank, which was a little weird, but whatever.

"No."

"See?" Dean turned back to Sam. "It's fine. We're not so pathetic we're gonna let one little kiss stand in the way of our friendship."

Gabriel started laughing. "My God, Dean Winchester, I think you're the only man I know who can kiss a man on purpose and not ten minutes later still be convinced you're straight."

"Yeah, yeah. Some of us prefer boobs to moose." He looked at Becky again. "Now, are we done here? I still have to introduce Cas to Chuck Norris."

"Yep. We'll keep in touch." Becky winked at him and got up. "Come on, Chuck. I have a wedding to plan." The couple left, leaving Dean with a bad taste in his mouth. He glanced at Sam, seeing that he was still flabbergasted. Dean took their empty plates up, heading to the kitchen, and tapped Sam's cheek on the way.

"Gonna catch flies, Samantha."

"Jerk!" Sam called at his retreating back.

"Bitch!"

Dean whistled to himself as he put the dishes in the dishwasher.


	9. Chapter 8

Six Weeks Later

Dean and Cas' Place

* * *

><p>Their bags were by the door, but Dean was still on the couch. They'd be gone for at least two weeks, and it felt strangely like leaving home. It was weird to think about it like that, their apartment, which still felt new sometimes. But it kind of was home. They had a life carved out in California. Dean hadn't felt at-home for as long as he could really remember, not unless he was in his baby on the open road.<p>

The doorbell rang, and Dean yelled at whoever was out there to come in. It turned out to be Sam and Gabriel with their bags, then, close behind, Becky.

"Look who we ran into in the hallway," Sam said, sounding tired and annoyed.

"Just wanted to see you guys off," she said, but Dean could tell that wasn't all. He'd learned Becky's evil ways well in the past month and a half. He'd had to kiss Cas once every time they met, so once each week. He had come to know the look in her eyes when she wanted something…specific.

"Jesus," he muttered, then turned in the direction of the bedrooms. "Cas, can you come out here?" Cas came from his room, probably making his bed or something. He took one look at Becky and sighed with the sort of resignation they'd come to feel in her presence. Dean waved him over, too lazy to get up. Cas walked over, stood between his knees, and leaned down, resting his hand on Dean's shoulder for balance. Dean pressed their lips together, still and bored. He thought about how lifeless they must look and that it would be kind of funny if they both got drunk sometime and actually gave Becky a show. The look on her face would be priceless.

It took him a split second to realize that he was smiling against Cas' mouth, but when he did, he pulled away quickly. Didn't want to give Becky the wrong impression.

There was a cough that did a horrible job of covering up the word "gay"; Gabriel was not nearly as funny as he thought he was, but Dean was really, _really_ disturbingly used to it.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Alright, Becky, unless you're going to buy us all coffee, we'll see you in New York." She giggled, waggled her fingers at them, and left.

"If you're done being blatantly homosexual, can we leave? I wanna get on the road as soon as possible," Sam said. Dean grinned, got to his feet, wrapped an arm around Cas' shoulders, and pressed a wet, noisy kiss to his rough cheek.

"Sorry, guess I'm not done yet." Sam rolled his eyes at him, which only made Dean grin more.

"We're heading down to the car," Sam sighed.

Dean rolled his eyes and wiped the wet spot off of Cas' cheek. "You all done in your room?"

Cas shrugged. "More or less."

"Then let's go. Can't let those losers get the drop on us."

When Dean locked up, he sighed. The sooner they could get back home, the better.

"Alright, road trip rules: no making out in the back seat, no blankets in the back seat (I know what happens under blankets, I've been there), and no drinks without lids or caps. Oh, and driver picks the music, everyone else can shut his cakehole. Got it?" Cas nodded, Sam rolled his eyes, and Gabriel put the blanket in his hands in the trunk. "We'll rotate drivers at every gas station," he finished, pained. He hated the idea of letting someone else drive his baby, but the only way they were gonna get there in a reasonable amount of time was if they drove straight through, and Dean couldn't drive for more than two days straight without passing out.

Everything settled, they hit the road.

* * *

><p>Four Days Later<p>

Lobby of Some Posh Hotel Dean Didn't Get the Name Of

* * *

><p>"If I don't sleep, I'm going to kill <em>all <em>_of __you_," Sam groaned, collapsing in a chair.

"Oh hush. Don't be such a baby. My connection should be here in a few minutes." Dean would have grinned at the glare Sam gave Gabriel, but he was too exhausted. The thing about being in a car with four other dudes, especially when one of those dudes is Gabriel, is that sleep is a pipe dream, at best. He'd caught a few hours here and there, drooling on Cas' trench coat, which he'd insisted on wearing in the car, but it wasn't enough, even though they stopped at motel for a few hours to shower and…well, Dean didn't want to think about what happened when Sam and Gabriel volunteered to "save water".

"This guy better be really fuckin' awesome," Dean growled, leaning against his luggage.

"You could say that," said a dry, English voice from behind him. Dean jerked and spun around. "However, the four of you seem to have the grooming habits of a pack of wildebeests, so I doubt you'll have an accurate assessment of my qualities." A shortish man in a black suit, black shirt, black tie, stood in front of him. His expression said he wasn't really someone you wanted to mess with. Dean didn't believe in those sorts of warnings.

"Pardon me, Miss Muffett, but why don't you try getting from San Francisco to New York as fast as we did, then see if you still smell like roses after."

"My private jet can get me between the two cities in six hours, Cro-Magnon. Now grab that moose and come with me. They should give me the key to the city for taking you to a shower. Gabriel, we'll be even after this, I trust."

"You know the answer to that, Crowley." He nudged Sam, who'd fallen asleep. "Come on, Sammy. We're gonna get you to a real bed." Dean leaned tiredly against Cas like a child, the way Sam used to lean against him when they were young and Sam was ready to collapse.

"Blegh. Need. Sleep."

Cas righted him with a strong arm. "Soon."

* * *

><p>Twelve Hours Later<p>

Presidential Suite

* * *

><p>Dean woke up with a dry mouth and the serious need to pee. Dazed, he stumbled off the bed (<em>nice<em>, he registered) and found the bathroom. Which was as big as his bedroom at home.

"Holy shit," he hissed, then padded over to take a piss.

After washing his hands and face, he decided to just take the plunge and shower. There were four different shower heads, and it was more of a shower _room_ than a stall. The soap was stupid-good, too. Jeez, Gabriel had friends in high places.

With a towel wrapped around his waist (since he sure as hell wasn't putting on his three-day-old clothes) he went to find his suitcase. He opened the door to the darkened bedroom and found the biggest hotel room he'd seen. The living room was way bigger than his and Cas'. It was ridiculous. Sam, Gabriel, Cas, and Crowley were sitting on couches in a sunken lounge-type area.

"Ah. Sleeping Beauty has awakened," Crowley said, taking a sip of some cocktail or other.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Very funny. Where's my stuff?" Cas pointed next to the bedroom door. And there was his suitcase. Awesome.

A few minutes later, dressed, he came out and sat on the couch next to Cas.

"There any food around here?" Crowley leaned forward to grab something off the coffee table. He tossed it at Dean's chest. A room service menu.

After he ordered a burger over the phone, he sat back down. "So, you guys been up long?"

"An hour, maybe," Sam answered. "Cas wanted you to sleep."

"Thanks." Dean stretched out, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. "Do we know when Bobby's getting here?" Crowley rolled his eyes for some reason.

Sam smirked. "Gabriel's having Crowley pick him up from the airport. He should be getting in in a half hour or so."

"I hate rednecks. I thought you lot were bad, but Sam alleged that this man owns a trucker hat? It's a crime against society," Crowley grumbled.

"Bobby can kick your ass," Dean said with certainty. "He's the closest thing to a dad we have. So don't be an asshole."

Crowley looked at Gabriel with malice. "I hate you so very much."

"Why are your panties in a twist?" Dean asked, annoyed. Crowley was bit of a jackass.

"As much as I love being the marching band in your little love parade, I have real business to attend to. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't, regrettably, in debt to swizzle stick over here."

"And here I thought you liked seeing straight men being coerced into playing gay," Gabriel said.

That sounded creepy to Dean. "Are you some sort of evil gay pimp?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Hardly."

"No, he's just a little bit of a Becky. Whatever you do, don't make a wager or deal with him. I made that mistake once."

"You make me sound like a sexual predator." Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose. "It has nothing to do with perverse desires. I simply enjoy seeing repressed bigots taken down a notch. Nothing does the trick like snogging a man. And it loses the effect if I explain it, so _thank __you_, Gabriel."

Dean nodded, feeling a little bit uncomfortable, and changed the subject. "So, uh, how big is this room anyway?"

"There are two bedrooms, a master and a guest, both with their own bathrooms, a kitchenette, and this room. The bar is stocked." Dean grinned. How awesome.

"So, where's everyone gonna sleep?"

"Gabriel and I are in the guest room," Sam answered. "You and Cas have the master bedroom. The bed's a king, so be a big boy and suck it up, and Bobby's got a couch, but they pull out into beds, so whatever. I think Crowley has his own room."

"My personal suite will be far better than anything found here."

"What about Chuck and Becky? Jo and Ellen? Everyone else?" Dean didn't really care about the first two, but Becky really had insisted that they go. It would be kind of mean to not get a room for them.

"They have their own rooms. Don't worry, Becky'll be here to make sure you kiss the bride."

"I am not a bride," Cas muttered and, honestly, Dean conceded that point. If they were into that, he had the sneaking suspicion that Cas might be as bad ass and fucking _absolute_ (_his __words, __that __one __time __years __ago, __when __trust __was __still __a __shaky __web __between __them_) in bed as he was in the battlefield. He might tease him about it for fun, but Dean thought that maybe he'd be catching rather than pitching if they ever went to the ball game. Not always because Cas was nice like that, but often enough. Not that he thought about them having sex or anything. Because he honestly didn't - it was like a giant no-fly zone in his mind, a permanent road block that he couldn't get past if he tried.

On the other hand, Sam had reminded him of that last kiss. Since it would be in front of everyone they knew. Bobby, Jo, Jo's mother, Ellen (who'd actually been his commanding officer in boot camp, go figure), and a smattering of people that Sam had sent invitations to, like Missouri, the nurse who baby sat Sam and Dean when they were young and their father was stationed overseas, and Rufus, who was Dean's real commanding officer from the moment his boots hit Iraqi sand. And also Crowley, who he wasn't too excited about.

Okay, sure, it was a tiny affair compared to that royal wedding chicks got all excited about a few months back, but it was still pretty much everyone he knew. All soon to be witness to him not only marrying a dude (which he could explain), but kissing him (which was a little more difficult to deal with). It wasn't particularly new or exciting, of course, since he'd been doing it for weeks, but these people wouldn't all necessarily get the inherent heterosexuality of the gesture. That was a bit awkward.

* * *

><p>Thirty-seven Minutes Later<p>

Outside JFK Airport

* * *

><p>A fucking <em>sign<em>.

Crowley was reduced to holding a fucking sign. He had five drug king pins from the surrounding areas, the district attorney, eleven state senators, the chief of police, and seventeen hitmen in his contacts list, and he was still in the process of transferring numbers over from his old phone. And here he was, in a four hundred dollar suit holding a bloody cardboard sign. Like a fucking chauffeur.

_Mr. Singer. _

Mr. Singer could walk, for all he cared.

But life-debts didn't just go away, especially not what was potentially several life-debts. The most humiliating thing about the whole affair was that Gabriel had saved his life for the sole purpose of making him his bitch. Of course, Crowley had friends in both low and high places, so that made him a valuable ally (not that he believed in having allies), which made it understandable that someone with the means would go through the effort of getting him in his back pocket.

_Oh_ _dear __dead __God_. That would be _him_. Completely out of place in New York, the kind of tourist that stuck out like the sorest of thumbs. They hadn't lied about the trucker hat, but he hadn't been expecting quite so much flannel or such disgustingly stained jeans. He'd have to lay out some plastic in the back of the town car so he wouldn't corrupt the upholstery with bad taste and eau de redneck.

Singer came over to him, giving him a suspicious look. The dead animal on his face made Crowley want to vomit.

"Get in the car," he growled, not willing to bother with niceties.

"Good evening you, too," Singer said sarcastically, opening his own door hesitantly (as if Crowley would do it for him). "Good to know drivers in New York have great manners."

Crowley stopped on his way to the other side of the car. Scoffed.

"I am not a _driver_. I refuse to get a license on principle alone. Men like me _have_drivers_._We do not drive ourselves anywhere, you hillbilly." He shuddered at the idea of having to drive himself places. How pathetic.

"What're you here bitchin' at me and holdin' a sign for, then?"

"My associate is a petty sadist with an absurd sense of humor. Now get in the car. Quickly. I don't want to be seen with you." Singer let out a snort, but, thankfully, he got in the car. Hopefully, no one who knew anyone had seen them together. Crowley had a reputation to uphold and it was general (and false) opinion that he fancied men with undoubtedly high blood pressure, protruding bellies, and multi-million dollar companies, and he didn't want anyone to tarnish his reputation by spreading that he'd been seen in the company with a _redneck_ of all things. At least the men people thought he had his way with wore Hugo Boss. This half-wit with the Salvation Army look could ruin him.

But sitting in the car, looking at the uncomfortable, generally sort of angry look the man had about him, Crowley sensed an opportunity for some casual manipulation. He was always interested in spreading his pain and humiliation on to others.

"I take it this whole arrangement is rather unconventional to your redneck sensibilities." He gestured in the air vaguely, indicating the repressed strangeness of Dean and Castiel's lack of metaphorical testicles and subsequent sex-less marriage.

"You could say that," Singer said. "And I ain't some redneck."

"Fine," Crowley conceded, playing at being nice, "but I sense a man like you believes in a good wager when it comes to him. Believes in good odds. A safe bet."

"What're you gettin' at?"

"A hundred dollars," Crowley said, smirking at the tiny sum. "I will wager you a hundred dollars that Dean Winchester will kiss his blushing bride before the wedding."

Singer snorts. "That's a losin' bet for you. No way Dean finds his balls and makes a move. I know that boy." How perfect. Crowley had him right where he wanted him.

"Then do we have a deal?"

"If you're ready to part with you money." He held out a hand, and Crowley smirked at it.

"I only make deals one way, Mr. Singer. A proper deal is signed with a kiss. Standard business practice." Singer looked startled, affronted. "Don't flatter yourself. I've adapted to a changing workplace. Women have moved up in the ranks. You aren't precisely my type, but a deal is a deal, and_that_ is how I operate. You can ask Thomas, if you wish," he said, indicating the driver, who glanced back and nodded. Thomas had seen a few deals in this backseat from his rearview mirror, Crowley knew. He paid him to keep his mouth shut. "Even the Winchester brothers are aware of this fact. Feel free to call them to confirm." Crowely held out his phone innocently.

Singer didn't take it. He looked mildly alarmed, but resigned. Interesting.

"Fine. Let's make it fast."

Crowley leaned forward and went in for it, held him in place with a hand on the back of his head. All the while, his other hand was going to the camera feature on his phone. It took a few seconds to load, he knew, so he adjusted his mouth a little, changed the angle so there wasn't mustache tickling his nose (_ew_). He looked at the phone. Still loading. What bullshit. And then he felt a tongue and nearly burst out laughing. The little camera picture popped up, he took his picture, then pulled away, letting out his laugh, making it as sarcastic and biting as possible.

"Tongue, Mr. Singer? _Tut __tut_."

"You took too long. I thought that meant you wanted..." Crowley smirked at him, giving him a clear _no_. Oh, idiots were so easy, it shouldn't be so fun.

But that picture was going to be far more fun to show off to the boys, when the time came.


	10. Chapter 9

Ten Minutes Later

The Hotel Room

* * *

><p>"Bobby!" Dean yelled, throwing his arms around the gruff man. "Glad you're here, man." He clapped Bobby on the shoulder, grinning at him as Sam reached them. He hugged him too, his little stint in Bobby's bomb shelter largely forgotten.<p>

"I swear, boy, you got a foot taller since the last time I saw you."

Sam shook his head, smiling. "Nah. I think you got shorter."

Cas came over and shook Bobby's hand. "Thank you for coming. It means a lot to Dean." It sounded a little gay to Dean's ears, so before Bobby could respond, he spoke up.

"Oh, by the way, Sammy's a flaming homosexual now," Dean said, too excited to see his face. He felt Sam's glare, but he was looking at Bobby and his shocked expression.

"What is it with the two of you? Fifteen years ago, Dean barely ate for all the skirts he was chasing and you were blushing like a fool whenever a girl even talked to you. Now look at you two idjits. Would've given your old man a heart attack."

"Ha ha," Dean said dryly. "Sam's the gay one. Better than that, I can say it and he can't even deny it."

Sam rolled his eyes and turned around. "Gabriel, you should probably ask for Bobby's permission to court me or something. Or, you know, say hi." Gabriel appeared almost magically, holding out a hand to Bobby, who gave him a very freaked out look.

"Name's Gabriel. I may not be tall, but I can drink these two chuckleheads under the table and the guy who invented Krav Maga really was just stealing the moves I used to kick his ass. I'm the boyfriend."

"He also likes candy," Dean said, grinning. "And he bakes."

"Yeah. I bake _manly _things. In a _manly_ way."

Dean leaned in to Bobby, shielding his mouth in a conspiratorial way but spoke far too loud. "He's kind of touchy about the whole gay thing. He likes to say that he only likes women and moose."

"I'm not a moose!" Sam huffed.

"Only thing missing are the antlers," Crowley piped up from the bar.

Bobby pointedly shook Gabriel's hand, giving Dean a look. "Nice to meet ya. He could've done worse, I suppose. Now I need a drink."

They ended up back on the couches with drinks. Dean smiled at Cas' glass of water. The rest of them were enjoying expensive alcohol, and Cas, of course, settled with water. From the tap, no less. Of course.

Sam was talking to Bobby about his flight, but Dean was tuning them out. He'd checked his watch earlier and he'd seen that _he __was __getting __fucking __married __tomorrow_. As in, tying the knot. Biting the goddamn bullet and marrying Cas. How shitfuckinggoddamn surreal. He was going to be a married man. To a married man. Marriage was a kind of permanent thing. Well, not always, but Dean was raised to think you married the right person and then you stuck with them until you died. That was what his dad did, what Bobby did. You made sure you loved them before you married them, and then there was no reason for divorce. And, yeah, Dean loved Cas, sorta like how he loved Sam, but maybe a little different, given, well, _everything_ about them and how they met and the fact that for the most part, he didn't get to choose Sam and he loved him (pretty much had to) despite anything and everything he did.

Cas was a little different. Sure, yeah, if they were both into dudes, they'd be banging each other all over the place. Like, _all_ over the place. Their apartment would just be a giant sex room. They'd have broken in every piece of furniture and bit of floor and wall in the joint by the end of their first week there. But they weren't into that. Still, Dean had a sex drive. They hadn't actually talked about it yet (for some reason, it just hadn't come up yet), but if Dean wasn't getting any from Cas (not that he wanted it, but the theory of the thing was what mattered), then he wanted to still be able to fuck chicks. Not that he had for a long while, too long a while, since Cas was really the worst wingman in the history of broship and wingmen and there wasn't much of an opportunity anyway. And they didn't really go out anymore to bars or the like. No, they stayed home and watched their Netflix because they were really that adventurous.

Christ, they were pretty much already married.

It was true. They basically were. They did all of the couple-y things, minus the sex and the romance. Sometimes they even went grocery shopping together. It was sad.

But, still, there was the sex thing. At some point in time, Dean would have the opportunity to be with a willing woman, and he'd like to take it. A man had needs. But they hadn't talked about it yet. Sure, he was sure that Cas knew about it, assumed he'd still be sleeping with women, but maybe he hadn't even thought about it. It wasn't like Cas had sex. Ever. (How he did it, Dean had no idea.) He just sort of...lived. Sexless. If that was really a life. He wasn't actually sure what he'd do if Cas brought someone home. Probably have a heart attack. It would be that weird. It would be like him growing a second head. So fucking weird. It just wasn't something Cas did. Wasn't something he'd do. Dean hadn't even ever thought about it, it was that weird.

And, true, when Dean eventually did find a girl to relieve a little pressure with, it wouldn't actually be at home. He'd never take anyone home to their place. That just wasn't what it was for. It was for him and Cas, and some chick...just didn't fit.

Before he could think about why, his attention shifted as Sam got up to get the door. He swallowed the rest of his whiskey. Dean felt out of it. Like he'd been thinking too much.

There was a high-pitched squeal, and Dean looked up. Becky, of course. Who else squealed like that? Abso-fucking-lutely no one. Sam was leading her over to the couches with Chuck. There were empty seats for them. Sam got them beers while Bobby eyed her suspiciously.

"Who's she?" he asked Dean.

"I'm Destiel's wedding planner," she answered. Bobby looked confused (rightfully so). "It's like Brangelina. Combining their names. You know."

"Becky, that better not be on anything tomorrow," Dean warned.

"It's not. That's just what I call you two when I wr-I mean, in my head."

"Good." He settled back in his seat, then saw her expression. "No. Come on. It's _tomorrow_." She just grinned and nodded. It was really fucking creepy. "I hate you," he muttered.

It was a long-suffering look that he turned on Cas. Long-suffering and world-weary. Well, Becky-weary. Cas had his usual pre-kiss, too-blank expression on, and leaned in a little. Dean sighed and slanted his lips softly against Cas'. It was starting to creep him out that the stubble against the corner of his mouth felt familiar, but that was Becky's fault. All of it. But hey, they still kept it completely heterosexual. No more touching than strictly necessary, no tongue, closed mouths. Dean hadn't kissed so chastely since grade school, but that was okay since it was _Cas_.

When he pulled away, Bobby's jaw was on the nice carpet. Crowley smirked and held an open hand out to him, palm facing up. Dean looked at the two of them. Confused.

"I can't believe you-"

"Come on, _Robert_. Pay up. A deal's a deal." Grumbling something profane, Bobby pulled out his wallet and handed five twenties over. Dean's confusion only grew.

"Remind me not to bet on your heterosexuality again, idjit," he said, and Dean got the picture. Crowley was a bit of a crafty bastard.

"That's hardly fair, Crowley," Gabriel said, but he was smirking. "You knew it was going to happen."

"I _inferred_. Besides, Robert, here, could have considered that I might have insider information and therefore the advantage. He didn't."

Dean saw Sam shift in his seat. "Did you kiss him?" Dean shot him a look. It wasn't a mental image he needed.

Bobby didn't answer for a long, long moment. "I thought I was going to win a hundred bucks. I didn't know Dean finally got over himself."

"Still straight," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "Business arrangement."

Crowley tapped something in front of him, then held it up. His phone. On which was a very real picture of the two of them locking lips. Not something Dean needed to see. Ever.

"You didn't have to take a goddamn picture." Bobby looked very put out. As he should.

"You didn't have to use tongue."

Dean gagged and tried to erase the past five minutes from his memory. A subject change was in order.

"So, it's around four, right? Everyone'll be here by six, so why don't we have the reception at around seven. Crowley, I'm sure you know of a good place for dinner around here. Then after, we can do the whole bachelor party thing. Gabriel, that okay with you?" It had turned out that Dean was too lazy to want to actively plan the bachelor party beyond the concept of _awesome_, but he trusted Gabriel's taste enough to let him do the honors.

"Yeah. That should be plenty of time. Crowley, that good?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Of course." He got up and left without another word, which wasn't something Dean was going to complain about. He'd had his fill of the guy for the time being. Something about him was...irksome, to use a word Cas might approve of.

"Actually, you know what sounds like a good idea? Cas, we should probably unpack. Get settled."

When they were safely in their room, Dean closed the door behind them. Time for a little fun.

"Alright, so, I'm thinking we should have sex tonight."

Cas, who was in the process of lifting his suitcase onto his dresser, dropped it with a loud _thud._He turned his head slowly, the rest of his body still. His face was so shocked, Dean wanted to take a picture. Well worth it, he'd say.

"Not for real, I mean. We should fake it - you know, banging the wall, making stupid noises, jumping on the bed, all of that. Make it loud. I mean, you know they'll be right outside with their ears pressed against the door. But then, in the middle of it all, we open the door, obviously not having sex, and have a good laugh at their expense. I'm so tired of them having the upper hand, you know?"

Cas turned his head back to the dresser and started unzipping his suitcase. "I'm not particularly fond of the idea, but if you wish, then I shall participate."

Dean sat on the bed near him, grinning enthusiastically. "Come on, it'll be fun. Let them think they've won, and then we show them the joke's on them. I mean, we've been Becky's Ken dolls for ages, and I'm done with it. I hate it. Yeah, it's almost over, but we can at least get her good before we excommunicate her." Cas turned around. There was something uncertain and flighty, a caged bird, in his face.

"I wouldn't precisely know how to go about it without further instruction," he said. "I...I don't exactly know how. In the practical sense."

For a minute, Dean thought maybe he means the faking sex. He thought about that, how someone could not know how to fake it. But the only way that could be was if Cas had never done it. Meaning Cas was a virgin. A _virgin_. Dean didn't even know how that worked, it had been so long since he was de-hymenated. It couldn't be. It just couldn't. He had to be sure, though.

"Cas, are you a...I mean, are you a virgin?" Cas looked away. Down. Holy fucking shit. What the fuck was this? How old was he? Dean had no idea, but older than himself. And he'd never had sex? That was just wrong. Plain and simple. "My God, if it is the _last __thing_ I do on this Earth, I am getting you laid." Cas looked up, and that weird bird look was back again. For a second, there was something hopeful in it, but then it was forced down.

"I'd prefer it if you didn't." Dean looked at him and sighed. What a fool.

"You'll change your mind, I'm sure of it. Whatever. The point is, I _really_ want to screw with them."

"And I'm telling you, I don't think I'll be any help." He seemed almost like he was getting angry. Probably all that repressed sexual energy.

"It's so easy. Just some grunting and moaning and a few _oh__my__god, __Dean!_s. Easy as pie. I swear."

Cas pretty much sneered. "That is hardly accurate. I am quite certain I wouldn't sound like a whiny adolescent." There was a little bit of a challenge there, and Dean rose to it, got to his feet, kind of in Cas' space (not that there really was any such thing as personal space with them).

"Is that so? Because I'm pretty good. I bet I could make you sound pretty pathetic." His tone was all manly arrogance, that sort of spark that had got him in too many bar fights to count, had made him a good soldier who was bad at taking orders. And if there was one thing he was sure of, it was his sexual prowess.

"You think wrong." Cas' voice dropped about ten octaves into a throaty growl and, okay, he wasn't expecting that. "I may not be as experienced as you are, but I'm a quick study and particularly diligent. I could make you fall apart in fifteen minutes, maximum."

And okay, Dean was not at all prepared for that. Because, to be honest, that was a sex voice he was using. A damn good one. He could have girls soaking their panties on just that voice alone. It was like the very act of good fucking was given a voice.

That, coupled with what he was saying, was putting them in very weird territory. They were only a handful of inches apart, and Cas was using a sex voice and talking about fucking him senseless. It was about ten million levels of weird, but Dean hadn't had sex with anything that wasn't five-fingered and connected to his body in _months_ so he was stupid-horny and dammit, he was pretty much hard-wired for sex. So that was why he was half hard and maybe staring at little at Cas' lips.

The silence stretched from _awkward _to _way __too __gay_, and Dean took a step back. "I believe you," he said, pretty much regretting the words just as they left his mouth. "You're right, I mean. It's a bad idea." It sounded like an invitation. JesusfuckingChrist, he needed to get _laid_. He needed a pair of tits, pronto. Preferably attached to a nice ass and a pretty face.

"I'm gonna go...you know. Put the shampoo in the shower." They actually shared shampoo and soap - they only had one bathroom, and it took up less of their minimal ledge space if they just used the same bottles. (It made something in Dean's chest sit right, that they always smelled like each other, not precisely, but close, and it fit.)

In the bathroom, Dean took a minute, hands gripping the edge of the sink, and breathed. Slowly. He needed to stop drinking before happy hour and sleep like a normal human being. And maybe not do stupid things, like marrying his best friend for what were starting to feel like stupid reasons. But then, here they were, getting married _tomorrow_. So that meant this last minute panic that was making his knuckles white and the tendons on his forearms stand out was just cold feet. Everyone got that. Well, everyone who got married somewhere other than a Vegas drive-through. It was totally normal that he was freaking out. That's all there was to it. He was freaking out.

Cas had just finished unpacking when he came back in the room. He set his suitcase down, and, watching him, Dean sat on the bed near him. Dean stuck a foot out, nudged Cas' sock-covered ankle with his boot. Just sort of messing with him idly because he wasn't sure what he was thinking or feeling, let alone how to say it.

"Did you want something?"

Dean stilled his foot. "No." Cas looked down at him, cocked his head. Dean knew that look. That look could sense bullshit a mile away.

"Are you certain?" Cas sat next to him in that too-close way of his. It was the way he comforted, since he didn't really know how the way normal people did.

"I guess." Dean looked down at his hands. They were still. "It's just, we're getting _married_ tomorrow. How bizarro is that?"

"If you were to reconsider, I would understand."

It took a second for Dean to understand what he meant. He sat there for a moment, not thinking about going back on their plans, but about how completely ridiculous Cas was. They were in the _hotel_, the _day __before __the __wedding_, and he was talking about reconsidering? Absurd.

That was when Dean realized that, for reasons unknown, he really, _really_ wanted to go through with it. More than anything. Not that he'd ever tell anyone, let alone Cas. He didn't dwell on why that was.

"Nah. It would be such a hassle to back out now. Might as well go through with it." Apparently, his attempt at seeming chill worked because Cas nodded once and got up. He didn't look at Dean for a moment, and in that moment, Dean fought against himself to keep the _I __want __to _buried deep beneath a lopsided smile.

Things were getting too weird in the bedroom, so he went back into the living room and poured himself three fingers of Jack.

Becky and Chuck were gone, Dean noticed, so it was just them and Bobby, who was making awkward small talk with Gabriel. Most of the awkward was coming from Gabriel, though, because he wasn't shy about himself and Sam (_oh __god, __why __couldn__'__t __he __just __be __shy_?) and Bobby was figuring that out. For some strange reason, Sam put up with it, in that pouty, bitchy way he put up with everything when he was pretending to be pissed off. Looking at them, Dean almost felt a little resentful that Sam could fall like a little girl for someone who was, for all he knew, hurting him and completely not his type at all. It looked like it came so damn _easy_ to them, which made absolutely no sense whatsoever. How come Dean didn't get to have someone like that? Well, he had half of it, but he and Cas didn't have a sex life or make stupid kissy faces at each other when they thought no one was looking. Idiots. God, he was starting to sound like Bobby. He was going to end up a crotchety old man.

Cas came out of the bedroom. Dean saw him and looked back down at his drink. So there was some...residual weirdness there. Which was stupid, since he and Cas were chill. They didn't do weird or awkward or any of that. That was for pussies.

"Cas, I think we're going to get you drunk tonight," Dean said, leaning against the bar.

"Why? So you can have your way with him?" Sam asked, smirking. Bitch. Dean ignored him, of course.

"That might be difficult." Cas seemed to be ignoring Sam as well. "I have a very high tolerance for alcohol." He glanced at Gabriel, quick. Dean saw it, but he didn't think Sam did. Something from the old days, then. Really, he had no idea if Sam knew about Gabriel's little stint as a professional ass-kicker with a license to kill.

"I dunno. Gabriel could give you a run for your money. He can drink me under the table twice over and not even be tipsy."

Dean wasn't sure if he meant he knew, so he responded with, "I don't know about that." Gave a little shrug. Gabriel got up to pour himself a drink, and when he got to the bar, Dean leaned in and asked in the quietest whisper, "He know you could kick Cas' ass if you wanted to?"

Pouring way too much chocolate liqueur into his glass, Gabriel said under his breath, "Haven't gotten around to telling him yet. He thinks I know Crowley from dealing." He swirled his glass a little, then looked Dean dead in the eyes, usual mischief gone. "I hate lying to him." The gravity sort of stunned Dean a little, but when he looked around, Gabriel was on the couch again, pressed against Sam's side.

Dean threw himself casually onto the other couch, next to Cas. He threw an arm around the back of the couch. He clearly needed more to drink since, for some reason, it felt like he was forcing normal.

"So, Gabriel, should we be worried about Crowley's involvement in the bachelor party?"

"As long as you're cool with cocaine and hookers. And the camel." He smirked at Dean.

"As long as the hookers speak English, it's all good."

"Oh, shucks. They're all Ukrainian. I'll tell Crowley to get on that." They both laughed.

"You know, it's hard to tell when you idjits are joking sometimes."

Dean rolled his eyes at Bobby. "Relax. You know us."

"I _thought_ I did, and then I saw you two mackin' on each other." He gestured with his beer at Dean and Cas. "I was sure you were too far in the closet to ever pull your head out of your ass and get with the program."

"Oh no," Sam said, "he still lives in Narnia. Rooming with Mr. Tumnus, and even _he__'__s_ figured it out."

Dean gave him a look. "_Nerd_. Those movies were for kids."

"I know," Sam shot back. "That's why I read the books!"

Dean just rolled his eyes. "Really, I don't see why you guys keep on with this whole _Dean __is __gay_ thing. You'd think you would have figured it out by now." Sam made a little exasperated noise, throwing up his hands like a girl. Cas didn't say anything, but then, he never really did. _He_ knew what was up. Well, that, and they never called Cas gay. Just him. Dean thought that was probably because Cas could hand them their asses on a platter if they tried to insinuate anything.

"I mean, I don't get it - I like _women_, I sleep with _women_, I check out _women_, and yet you still think I'm bent. All the proof is there, you just aren't seeing it. Like you're deliberately ignoring the fact that I'm only into chicks." Sam flailed again, muttering something stupid and girly, no doubt. Gabriel patted him on the knee (_because __Gabriel __was __in __on __it, __that __asshole_) and said something that was probably something along the lines of _He__'__ll __get __it __eventually_. That was the thing. There was nothing to get. Not for him, anyway.

"How can I prove it, Sammy? Huh? Because I'd like to. Really. It's tiring, all this crap. _Everyday_. I'm done with it. Let me just prove it to you once an for all, then we can get over this little _delusion_ of yours." Sam leaned forward, getting a look that belonged on Gabriel's face. Bad news.

"I've seen you kiss women. Not on _purpose_, but I've seen it. So kiss Cas. For real. Put some effort into it. Then tell me if you're still sure you only like chicks."

Dean scowled. "Pulling a Becky? That's low, man. _Low_." Completely uncalled-for. Dean looked at Cas, who was his usual blank self. "Cas, can I use you to prove my heterosexuality?" He said it like a joke, meant it like a joke, but it felt wrong, making Cas the collateral damage of Samantha's schemes.

"As you wish." It sounded like a resigned sigh. They were both tired of it, of faking it for people to get their rocks off on. Sam was going to get beat up, and Dean was going to enjoy it.

"Make it real, Dean. You're bad at faking it."

Gabriel coughed, clearly enunciating the word _tongue_. Dean decided was disowning the both of them when he saw Sam nod emphatically.

"I'm gonna get you both back when you least expect it."

"And I'm out of here," Bobby said, getting up from his chair. He grabbed the bottle of Jack before heading out to the balcony. Good thing, too. That would be like his Dad watching him kiss a dude. Too creepy. Because Dean was going to go for it. He was going to give his all, just so Sam couldn't say he didn't and use that as an excuse. He was going to show that idiot.

Dean turned to Cas, realized it was an awkward angle. He was going to break his neck or something.

"I hate you," he told Sam, then swung himself so he hovered Cas' lap. Cas' eyebrows shot up. It was a little awkward since Cas had this habit of sitting with his back perfectly straight at all times, never against the back of whatever seat he was in, so they were a little too close. He was always so _stiff_, it made Dean's back sore just to look at him. But he mentally shook his head, remembered his mission.

Dean leaned forward, but stopped short. It was looking to be the worst game of gay chicken ever played. He was just _there_, maybe an inch away from Cas' face, and holy shit, his eyes, they were right there, open and too blue. If he kept looking at his eyes like that, he was going to freak out. It was too much. He should tell him to shut them or something, but his throat wasn't cooperating. Instead, he twisted Cas' tie in one hand (_how __weird __- __a __tie_) and pushed his shoulder with the other. Slowly, Cas leaned back, and Dean couldn't say why, but he kept the distance between their faces small, breathing the same air. Cas' breath was hot against his lips and that did something to his stomach, but Dean wasn't thinking about that because Cas' eyes were too wide, afraid almost. It was such a weird, strange look on him, fear. It shouldn't have been there. It was wrong.

That was why Dean closed the space between them, ghosted his lips against Cas'. Because it made him close his eyes in a little flutter. His lashes were too long, Dean noticed, as he lightly pressed his lips forward in shivery little touches because he was nervous now too. For the first time since the seventh grade, he was nervous about kissing someone. That wouldn't do.

Picturing a pair of breasts to push the shakes away, he tilted his head and pressed a real kiss against the corner of Cas' mouth. Another on his upper lip. Oh, he was far too used to stubble, that much was certain, since it wasn't at all strange. It was so not-strange that it took him a second to realize that his own hand had slid up to cup Cas' jaw. Dean pulled away a little, something in his chest twisted almost painfully, and bumped their noses together. He wasn't sure why he did it, it was too...affectionate to be something he would do normally, but it just happened. Cas' eyes shot open, that weird fear-look in them again. Dean couldn't take it, needed him to close his eyes shut, so he let out a puff of warm air against Cas' lips, tilted his head to the other side, and slotted their mouths together. Cas' eyes' closed again, sure, but Dean also felt a fist grab his shirt at his hip. Tight, bunching the fabric, and maybe Dean had always loved it when girls grabbed him like that, like they were drowning. Only now it wasn't some girl, it was Cas, Cas who smelled like Dean's shampoo and water (_which, __yeah, __did __have __a __smell, __thank you very much_).

But he tried not to think about how Cas smelled. That was the wrong line of thinking, and it was doing weird things to him. His body felt miles away but too close. He didn't want it, didn't want to feel a thing even though his nerve endings may have been on fire and there was a kickdrum in his chest, beating a stampede. That was just the kiss talking. Kisses were always like that, always confusing and weird and too much. Yeah. Right.

And then, to distract himself, Dean dragged the tip of his tongue from one corner of Cas' mouth to the other. Pressed in a little until his lips parted in what almost seemed to be relief. Something about that made Dean's hands pull his mouth closer, dive right inside to lick at Cas' tongue with something like want (_want __to __make __Sam __and __Gabriel __satisfied, __just __that __kind __of __want, __that __was __all_) slowly, languorously. Cas' mouth was too hot, hotter than any girl he'd kissed, but it tasted like water, like rain, the angry sort from the middle of a thunderstorm that tried to shatter the windows with each boom. He tasted like lightning, wet and sparking.

One jolt, slicked against the roof of Dean's mouth, made his hands shake against Cas' neck, made his skin start to turn inside-out, and that was when Dean pulled away.

Sam and Gabriel could go fuck themselves, that was a real enough kiss as far as he was concerned. Panting a little, he watched Cas' eyes open, this time far less afraid and far darker, and flipped himself off of Cas. Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and gave Sam and Gabriel a _Is __that __the __best __you __got?_ look. Sam gaped at him and Gabriel looked mildly surprised, which was weird.

"Still not gay," Dean said, ignoring how his hands were still shaking and there was still something trying to beat its way out of his chest. That didn't matter. Dean did it, he didn't even want to think about thinking about having sex with Cas, and he was done.

"You're serious?" Sam asked, disbelieving and bitch-facing like a champ. "You didn't feel anything from that? Who are you, fucking Banky?"

"Hell, _I_ felt something," Gabriel muttered too loud. Dean shot him a look. "What? Sam can't say it cause of the whole incest thing, but it's true. That was...well, it was something."

"And _that_'s weird," Dean said, creeped out.

"Wow." Sam sunk back into his seat. "You are officially so deeply in the closet, I think you've come out the other side. You're so convinced you're straight that you don't realize just how very _gay_ that was. I mean, you just made out with a _dude_. And it was...well, it _was_. Why can't you just watch some gay porn, get a boner, and admit to yourself? I promise I won't even say _I __told __you __so_."

"You think watching gay porn would do the trick, Sam? If it did, I would've been gay a long time ago." Sam looked taken aback. "What? It was high school. I was just checking to be sure. And I _wasn__'__t_, by the way."

Sam sighed, shook his head. "I give up. I don't think I can convince you. You're hopeless. It's going to have to come from within."

Dean snorted. "_Finally_." Maybe now they'd stop being idiots. "And I'm gonna go take a piss. Be right back." He slapped Cas' knee as he got up, the way he always did, and headed off to pee and maybe remind himself that nothing weird was going on. Nothing at all.


	11. Chapter 10

During the Four Minutes

(and Thirty-Seven Seconds)

Dean Spends in the Restroom

* * *

><p>Sam held his breath until Dean was safely in the other room, then turned to Gabriel. "What if it's not across-the-board bisexuality? What if it's just Cas, but he's convinced himself that everything he feels is just normal friendship? He's so good at repressing stuff that he could have entirely repressed his attraction and love, I bet. He has absolutely no idea that the things he's feeling are actually what they are."<p>

"I dunno. It takes a little more than normal self-repressive instincts to play that off as not-gay," Gabriel said, chewing his lip thoughtfully. "I can't believe that didn't work."

"Yeah. Me neither." Sam frowned, then looked up at Castiel, who was wondering very much when they would acknowledge the fact that he was still in the room. "I mean, that felt pretty legit to _you_, didn't it?"

"It certainly seemed _legitimate_, if that is what you meant. But I wouldn't know any better than you when it comes to Dean." Especially when it came to romance. Castiel was all too aware of _that_ fact.

"You're still in love with him, thought, right? I mean, I just assumed and all-"

"That would be accurate."

"So what was your take on it?" Castiel felt very uncomfortable. Not that he hadn't for, say, the past two months or so, but especially then. So he had kissed the man he was in love with ten times, most recently only a few moments prior, and the whole thing made him want to sit alone in the dark for a while until he could stop thinking about it, and he certainly wasn't about to talk about the feelings he didn't want to have with said man's brother. But, then, Sam was trying to help him. He _wanted_ him to be with Dean. For reasons unknown.

"Television is not a precisely accurate portrayal of the act of kissing," he said before he really even registered the thought. Not that his mind was in proper working order since Dean leaned over his lap and looked at him like _that_. In a way that gave Castiel some sort of blind hope.

Sam leaned forward. "Wait, you mean you never-"

"Please tell me you aren't conspiring over there, trying to convince Cas that _he_'s gay now. Not gonna work. Sorry, Sammy." Dean, standing in the doorway to the bedroom with his hands on his hips, shook his head at them. "Cas is as straight as they come." Castiel almost laughed at that, seriously _laughed_, because he'd never had any interest, romantic or sexual or otherwise, in any woman, any _man_, but Dean, just Dean, and maybe that made him gay, maybe it didn't, but it certainly didn't, by any stretch of the imagination, make him straight. Furthermore, he couldn't think of a single time that he'd put any effort into making Dean believe he was interested in women. How he came by that notion was not something Castiel could comprehend.

* * *

><p>Dean sat back down beside Cas.<p>

There still wasn't anything weird going on.

No. He'd just shared a very heterosexual, very _manly_ kiss with his best fr- well, fiancé. It was totally normal and platonic for the both of them. Nothing different from that whole mess with Becky.

Jesus Christ, he needed a bottle of something strong and maybe a little illegal. Like, pure, 100% alcohol.

But nope. This was no big deal. He was awesome at acting normal, like he wasn't totally freaking out-_which __he __wasn__'__t_-in any situation. No. It was all chill. Just hanging out with the boys. Drinking a little. Relaxing. Yup. Just the five of them-

"Someone should go get Bobby. I nominate Sam, since he's a little bitch."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Fine. Jerk. Can't blame me for trying, anyway."

Dean sighed and sunk back into his seat. He glanced at Cas, who was looking straight ahead grimly. It made Dean feel guilty seeing him like that, knowing that it was kind of his fault, some of it. Cas was always the innocent bystander that got mauled by the stampede in Jumanji when it came to Sam and Becky. This most recent thing was worse, and Cas didn't deserve it, having some dude all over him just to prove, once and for all, that he was a freaking ruler when it came to straightness. It worked, sure, but Dean would have rather it been anyone but Cas. He just hadn't done anything to warrant Sam being an asshole and Dean maybe rising to the bait. It was obviously the last thing he ever wanted (_not __that __it __would __have __mattered __anyway, __but __it __wasn__'__t __like __Dean __could __even __start __to __picture __a __world __where __Cas __wasn__'__t __totally __hetero_), and yet he kept getting thrown into crappy situations.

"Did you two get your shit together?" Bobby asked. "Or are you idjits still in denial?" He sat in his chair, waiting for an answer.

"Still not into dick," Dean answered cheerfully. "And Sam's still stupid. But we all knew that."

It really was so very easy thinking everything was totally normal, especially pretending it was. Not that it wasn't. Dean wasn't going to even think about thinking those thoughts.

* * *

><p>A Little After Seven<p>

Mooby's Steakhouse

* * *

><p>Dinner was weirdly loud. Not that Dean came from an especially quiet family, what with him and Sam fighting good-naturedly all the time and their dad being kind of fond of yelling sometimes. But he wasn't expecting...<em>this<em>.

Pretty much everyone he knew was crowded around a few pushed-together tables in a private room. A _nice_ private room that he totally didn't want to think about to the price of. There were a few bottles of wine on the table, some had beers. That probably didn't help. And, objectively, it wasn't that loud, but mostly just surreal. There about five conversations going on at once. Jo and Chuck, across from each other, were talking about some television show they liked being cancelled a few years back; Rufus and Ellen were tag-teaming Bobby (who apparently knew both from his time in the service, go figure) to get a intriguing story about John out of him, something about a rubber chicken, an impromptu Hamlet soliloquy, and the shortest fire battle in the history of the world (whatever that meant); Becky was chatting with Gabriel, who was next to her, about gay porn (Dean tuned _that_ one out quick); Missouri was trying to tell Cas about the time Dean almost drowned Sam trying to "teach him how to swim" in the bathtub when they were really little; Sam was making awkward small-talk with Crowley, trying to suss out what exactly he did for a living. It was chaos, that was certain, with waiters darting in to refill water glasses and Gabriel occasionally aiming a spitball at Jo. One of which "accidentally" hit Crowley, but Dean knew that Gabriel's aim was near-perfect, despite the sheepish smile he offered in apology.

The whole thing made Dean want to explode. In a good way, but still. These were going to be the guests at his, admittedly small, wedding. These people were going to watch he and Cas tie the fucking knot tomorrow, and here they all were, laughing and acting like it was all normal, all some normal family affair. Which it was, yeah, but Dean was thinking in investing in about five layers of socks and some heavy snow boots because his cold feet were about to turn into frostbite.

He downed an entire glass of wine in one gulp, then made a face at the creepily illustrative hand gesture Becky was making at Gabriel. Under the table, Cas' hand materialized just above his knee, squeezing gently. It was comforting, even though there was some part of him that said it shouldn't be. Dean let his hand graze the back of Cas', just an acknowledgement.

When Dean looked up, it was just in time to see Jo shoot a spit ball back at Gabriel, offering a cute little challenging pout. He winked at her, a reflex, and she rolled her eyes. It was comforting that some things could be depended upon, like Jo's disinterest. It was the entire reason he tried with her, anyway. Well, mostly.

Dean looked around the table again, and even if the familiar faces were nice and made him sort of warm, there was still that rash-like itch when he looked at the wedding party, and realized that they were all his or theirs, really. Well, Crowley was Gabriel's, there was no way Dean was going to claim _him_, but the thing was, no one there was there for just Cas. Sure, some were there for the both of them, and Jo would surely _say_ that she was only there for Cas, but no one was Cas' family or anything. Dean didn't actually know a whole lot about Cas' family or his childhood, just that Cas had been in training for as long as he could remember and considered his fellow soldiers to be his brothers and sisters. He never mentioned parents or anything, and he never talked about it. Dean wondered if it made him sad, seeing the messy, adoptive family of the Winchesters when he had none of his own.

But that wasn't right. Not one bit. Cas was one of _them_ now, he was part of the Winchesters & Co. They had a bunch of retired soldiers for parents, a nurse-slash-faith healer for an aunt, and a bunch of odd cousins in the form of Jo and Chuck and Becky. And, for the length of the wedding, Crowley could be the black sheep. So maybe they did have something of a family, even if most of them weren't related by blood, but that wasn't really the family that mattered, anyway. It was the idiots who stuck by you, who, in turn, you tolerated and sometimes tried to drive crazy on purpose. Cas was part of that family in all the ways that counted.

Dean stood abruptly, tapping on his empty wine glass with his fork. (Luckily, it didn't break.) The group hushed.

"So, I don't really know if there's supposed to be some order to the toasts or whatever, but I wanted to thank all of you for being here. Some of you, I've known since I was in diapers, some of you, only a few months, but I look at all you, and I see a family. Sure, we've had our ups and downs-" he glances at Sam "-but I love all of you like blood. Well, except you, Crowley." He cracked a grin at the fact that Crowley looked thankful to have been disassociated with the lot.

"But my point is, we might not be something perfect or normal, but we're something. And even if it's already been true in the way that matters, it's pretty damn nice that Cas is gonna be a part of that on paper." He looked down at Cas, who had this sort of open, shining look about him, a real smile, and Dean ignored the way his throat was feeling a little tight.

"Now, I'm going to deny it if any of you ever say I said this, and I think maybe I've been drinking a little too much today, but I don't think I could be happier that I'm marrying my best friend." As he said it, he realized just how true it was. "I'm lucky as hell he said he'd have me, 'cause I know I'm not the easiest to deal with all the time, and maybe I think he's a little bit of a fool for it, but I love him all the same." Dean ruffled Cas' hair fondly, not really messing it up more than its usual state of disorder. He still wore that look that was the tiniest bit like awe, and it did funny things to Dean's chest, having someone look at him like that. But yeah, Cas was like a brother (well, not like Sam at all because he actually _liked_ Cas, but similar) and he loved him like family. He _was_ family.

He grew serious, staring them all in the eyes shrewdly. "Like I said though, you repeat any of that, I'll deny it. And that's not saying anything about your personal well-being, if you catch my drift." Dean sat down. Cas' leg touched his, ankle to knee, and stayed there, but Dean didn't move his leg out of the way. It was that personal space thing that Cas never learned, and that was a-okay. Dean never minded, and Cas was still looking at him openly, like he had no idea that he should look away because _people __didn__'__t __look __at __other __people __like __that_, because it made Dean feel a little bit naked, but in a good way, maybe, he wasn't sure. That was okay, too.

It took Dean a second to realize that Sam had his hand on his arm. When Dean looked at him, he was smiling, but not smugly, just sort of natural. Kind. It was a little creepy. Dean gave him an eye-roll, knowing he was thinking something stupid and chick-flick-y.

"Stop blushing, Samantha, I'm sure the quarterback will ask you to the prom," he hissed, smiling just a touch.

"Nope. You know what?" Sam stood, towering over them. "I know I'm not going to be able to top Dean's touching emotional display-" _no __sarcasm __there, __the __bitch_ "-but I do want to say a couple words. Cas-" he looked at Cas in a way that made Dean want to turn himself into a human shield because, oh god, those were the puppy eyes breaking through "-I _know_ you're perfect for Dean, and he's gonna hate me for saying this because it's true, but I think you guys complete each other. No, seriously. Dad used to say that for each person, there was someone out there, someone perfect for them. For him, that was my mom, and for you guys, I think it's each other. So Dean?" He looked at him in that tough way that made Dean see him as about seven years old. "Don't screw this one up. You got a good thing going for you, and you kind of get it, but don't forget to look up once in a while and remember that Cas is an awesome dude. So don't mess it up, alright?" He smiled then, almost like a father, and it was strange. Dean took offense with what he said, since he didn't like to be reminded that everything he touched turned to shit or anything, even though sometimes it didn't. He wasn't going to mess anything up this time; he and Cas were _solid_. They were rocks. Really tough rocks.

There was a disbelieving, disgusted snort from Crowley, and Dean heard something that sounded suspiciously like Gabriel kicking him under the table. And then Dean looked at Cas again and had the weirdest urge to take him by the hand and get them the hell out of there, just run away somewhere they could be alone, and then, well, Dean didn't know what. But it has something to do with letting words spill from his mouth, only he didn't know which ones those were or why they were so important. He had no fucking clue, but he grabbed Cas' wrist like he was gonna do it. Held on, and kept the weirdness in his throat and chest from bubbling forth, pushed it all down like bile.

Cas' hair still stuck up at weird(er) angles, Dean noticed as a waitress poured a glass of wine for him (not that he really liked wine, but he thought it would get him fully drunk slowest, so he went with it). Smiling to himself, he finger-combed and flattened Cas' hair into a less-ridiculous shape. Cas just looked at him curiously for a moment before turning his attention to Becky, who seemed to be clamoring for his attention. It made something deep inside Dean let out a little sigh.

But he wasn't going to take him by the hand and run into the night. That was stupid and weird and there was no reason for it. Nope, he was just gonna sit there and try to remember who he was.

* * *

><p><strong>So, Chapter 10 = fun facts time! <strong>

**Fun fact 1: This fic is finished.**

**Fun fact 2: It is over 90k. **

**Fun fact 3: I am in the process of posting playlists for both of the main couples, and when I do, I will post links.**

**Fun fact 4: Since most of the female characters in the show were not taken care of well, I chose to make them not completely hate-able. Lisa included. But I do not ship Lisa/Dean in any way, shape or form. **

**Fun fact 5: There's a lot of angst in the second half, but no more than the show itself, but in fic, there are happy endings.**

**And, you know, if you like the fic/hate the fic/feel particularly ambivalent towards the fic, I wouldn't exactly mind if you let me know...**


	12. Chapter 11

**The songs mentioned in this chapter are Strange and Beautiful by Aqualung (www. youtube. com/watch?v=WYgBoJRi9uk) and Whipped Cream by Ludo (www. youtube. com/watch?v=BUw-V0GPvQU&ob=av3e).**

* * *

><p>Two Hours Later<p>

Some Bar on the Upper East Side

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><p>"No. <em>No <em>_fucking __way_. No. Just no. I'm not gonna do it." Dean crossed his arms over his chest, shook his head.

"Oh, come on," Sam begged (_whined, __really; __he __was __such __a __bitch_). "One song. That's all I'm asking for. Just one song."

Dean leaned closer to him, making his meaning perfectly clear. "No. Way. In. _Hell_. I am not gonna sing karaoke like some teenage girl. It's stupid. I'm not gonna do it."

"Look, _I_'ll do it. Gabriel will do it. Hell, I bet even Cas will do it!" Dean looked over at Cas, who was being challenged to a drinking duel by Jo. And was winning, seeing as she'd stopped after seven shots of tequila and he was on his fifteenth. Dean sincerely wondered for a moment if he was human. He showed no signs of slowing down.

"No, Cas won't do it. You're never gonna get him drunk enough for that. Look at the guy. He's like a sponge." He watched in fascination as Cas finished his line of shots, twenty in all. He looked completely sober. How was that even possible? But then he looked over at the bar and his eyes lost focus for a second. He was getting there. Amazed, Dean watched him pour three more shots, down them all, then slap the table and try to get up. Of course, he was towards the back of the booth, which meant that he ended up sort of crouching over everyone, walking over their laps to get out. Okay, Dean had to admit, he was definitely mostly drunk, given the sort of happy, hazy look on his face. When he finally popped out of the booth, on the end near where Dean was sitting, he grabbed Dean's beer, chugged it, then refilled Dean's tumbler with Jack, drank that too. Dean could only watch in awe. It was like watching a train wreck in slow-motion, but backwards or something. And drenched in alcohol.

"What _are_ you?" he breathed, amazed that someone could drink that much and still be alive, considering that the tequila was after a few glasses of wine at dinner and a couple girly drinks at the bar that Gabriel forced on him

"I," he announced to Dean, eyes clearly having trouble focusing, "am getting my drunk on. At least that is what Jo called it. I'm going to go sing now." Slack-jawed, Dean watched him sort of saunter over to the karaoke stage, bend over, look through songs.

"Holy shit. I can't believe he's actually doing it," Sam said from across the table.

"I can't believe he's still standing," Jo said before cuddling up against Crowley and telling him what Dean heard as, "You are so very _squishy_." Dean snorted and made a gesture to Gabriel to cut her off, and he nodded reluctantly, clearly amused.

"Looks like Crowley's doing well for himself, Sammy," he teased. Sam looked over and laughed. Crowley tried to pry Jo off, but she was a lot like an octopus with dependency issues. It was less than effective, to say the least.

"Ellen's gonna kill us."

Dean brushed it off. "She's an adult. We'll just have to make sure to get her home alright. Something tells me Crowley won't be taking advantage."

"Good evening," Dean heard over the speaker system, and he looked to see Cas, tie askew, clearly preparing to sing. "I'd like to dedicate this song to the dark abyss that is my quote-unquote _love __life_." He made air quotes to emphasize his point, and Dean laughed. Dear god, he was drunk. "I hope and pray I don't remember this in the morning."

The music started, drums, then piano and then, sweet Moses, that was Cas singing karaoke. And he wasn't particularly bad. His voice was low, and it sounded like maybe he took the song down an octave or ten, but Dean was hardly thinking about that. He was just watching, entranced, as Cas gripped the microphone like a lifeline. It was a pretty song, something about unrequited love, but Dean stopped all thought when he got to the chorus.

_"I__'__ll __put __a __spell __on __you_..."

And maybe he had, because Dean couldn't look away. He was paralyzed and floating, and maybe it had something to do with the fact that Cas sang with his eyes closed, the way people do when they feel it. He never would have thought Cas was the type to sing with his eyes closed, let alone know a song well enough to, but he was and there was something beau- something _unusual_ about it.

The next time Dean blinked, he realized the song was over, there was some applause, and Cas was walking over to them loosely. He grabbed the bottle of Jack and took a few swigs, then set it down. He looked like a bit of a mess, but that was okay. Dean wished he were that drunk, he really did.

"Who was that song for?" Dean asked him, and Cas leaned in close, too close. Breathed against his ear.

"_Don__'__t __ask __stupid __questions. __I__'__m __not __nearly __drunk __enough __for __that_." He swooned a little and chose to sat on the nearest available seat-like spot he found, which happened to be Dean's lap. He waved his hand dismissively at the group. "Someone else's turn. Go. Someone."

Gabriel rubbed his hands together in a way that made Dean worry. "I'll go. This one's for you, Sammy. You'll get what I mean." He edged out of the booth, but Dean stopped paying attention to him because Cas was still on his lap, holding onto the bottle of Jack like it was a baby bottle. It was a little disturbing. Dean wiggled the bottle out of his grasp.

"I think that's enough for you for now. You can have more when we get back to the hotel, but I don't want you pass out before we even make it there." Cas sighed dramatically (cutting him off was clearly a good idea) and flopped forward to rest his head in his hands, elbows on the table, like he was sulking.

Distantly, Dean heard Gabriel sing the words: "_I __want __it __with __whipped __cream __on __it, __baby, __gimme __gimme __gimme __your __love_," and that was the moment he realized that, well, Cas was kind of _sitting __on __his __lap_. It wasn't like he was super heavy or anything, but there was the little thing of weight being distributed in such a way that his ass was kind of pressing against Dean in places it shouldn't. Because they were straight men and that wasn't really what straight men did. For a second, he got distracted from that little bit of discomfort when he caught sight of Cas' shoulder blades under his suit jacket and he wasn't sure why. But Cas shifted and Dean remembered.

"You're kind of killing my circulation, man," he said, tapping Cas on the thigh to get him to move. Sighing, he did, kind of falling over next to Dean, wedging into the space between him and Crowley. He moved like he was made of jelly, just sort of slipping all over the place. It was almost a little funny, seeing him like that. Crowely looked pretty pissed for a second, having two drunks snuggled against him, but Cas flopped over onto Dean, leaning against his side. Dean looked away, at the stage, just in time to see Gabriel do a final pelvic thrust while singing the last note. Sam was bright red and laughing himself silly, laughing hard enough that Dean was sad he missed the performance. There were some catcalls and wolf-whistles as Gabriel hopped off the stage. He was grinning wide in his typical mischievous way, and Dean snorted and shook his head at the sight.

Cas' head flopped onto his arm, looking at Dean. "Why can't I be sexy? Gabriel gets to be sexy, why not me?" Dean smiled fondly at him. Stroked his hair.

"Because you are so very, very drunk right now that you're actually asking that question. You're probably going to need to throw up soon."

"That is not of import. I just wish...Dean, do you find me attractive?"

"Are you really asking me if you're pretty? I never thought you'd be that sort of drunk."

Cas glared at him. "That isn't what I _meant_, Dean. Obviously, Sam and Gabriel find each other attractive, you find Jo attractive, and I don't think we even need to mention _you_. I am trying to understand why I am clearly the unattractive friend in our circle of acquaintances. I want to _understand_ why I am so clearly repulsive while someone like Gabriel, who I've been told is shorter than is traditionally attractive, or someone like Jo, who's, well, _acerbic_, can be thought of as so very attractive. Please. _Explain __this __to __me_." He seemed so...hopeless. It was completely surreal to see him, first of all, actively displaying emotions, and second of all, concerned about himself in any sort of social way. Maybe he was just an emotional drunk. Some people were like that. Clearly, he was, if he was bemoaning is self-perceived lack of sex appeal. Well, it was downright weird for a dude to say something like that to another dude, but what was Dean supposed to do? Say _Oh, __man, __sorry __about __that_? Really, the idea that he had to ask was stupid. He had _seen __a __mirror_, hadn't he?

"Cas, what the hell are you talking about? Look, I'm only going to say this once, and it pains me to break bro-code like this, but, man. Come on. You're gorgeous. Stop moping. You've got the _strong, __silent_ thing going on for you. Chicks love that. And girls always love a guy with nice eyes. So don't come to me with self-pity because that's lame and someone who wasn't me might think you were fishing for compliments-"

"I don't understand that phrase."

"It means you were saying that something awesome about yourself was not-awesome so people would tell you how awesome you are. Only really bitchy chicks do that." Dean sighed. "I need a beer before I grow a vagina. I don't think I've ever felt girlier than I did just now."

"You think I'm not hopelessly unattractive." Cas sort of said it to himself, like he was still doubting it, which was so stupid. It was going to cause some ball-shrinkage, but it was just pathetic for him to not get it, and it was Dean's moral obligation to make sure he got the picture.

"_Dude_. On a scale of one to ten, it's too gay for me to tell you what number you are, that's how high a number you'd get. Okay? I mean, your hair is kind of ridiculous, but in a good way, but you've got a great face and a body to be proud of. I've seen you naked, so I know. And my god, I need more to drink. Or maybe less. Maybe that's the problem." Dean rubbed his face, trying to regain the little crumbly bits of his manhood. He wasn't going to think about it though, because if he started thinking about the fact that he just told his best friend he's hot, they were going to have some serious problems.

"Just never ask me anything like that again, alright?"

"Of course." Cas put his head down on the table. He looked pretty tired, but that was probably the alcohol. Jesus, he did drink _a __lot_.

Dean looked up at Sam, made a face at the fact that he and Gabriel were swapping spit. "Guys. Not cool." They pulled apart, and at least Sam had the decency to look a little guilty. "I think we should go. I don't want Cas to pass out before we get back to the room, and I think Jo needs some sleep."

"I'm good!" she said, her head popping up, eyes bleary and confused. "Ugh, why do I feel like I was drooling?" She wiped her mouth with a grossed-out face.

"Because you _were_," Crowley answered with a look of disgust, grabbing a clump of napkins. "Gabriel, have I told you, in the last hour, about how much I utterly _loathe_ you?"

"Did you call the strippers?" Gabriel replied with. Dean perked up. Strippers were always good.

Crowley gave him a weary look. "Of course."

"Any men?" Jo asked.

Gabriel shrugged. "I figured Dean would probably emptily threaten me with grievous bodily harm. There was an Officer Ben Dover that came highly recommended, but I had to turn him down." Jo giggled, then sighed dramatically.

"I guess I can do a few body shots before going home."

Dean gaped. Jo looked at him and shrugged.

"What? I work in a bar part time. Do you know what sort of extra tips I can get for body shots? Jerks love paying money to watch that, and it's not exactly like I mind."

Dean looked at her and shook his head in appreciation. "Jo Harvelle, you are a wonder among women."

"You're still not my type, Dean." She smiled though, and it was pretty on her. He liked the way she smiled.

"One day, I'll change your mind on that one." He took a gulp of Jack, then got up. "Alright, to the hotel? I'm ready to get the real party going. Come on." He hauled Cas up, but he didn't have any trouble steadying himself.

The other four filed out of the booths (Bobby having chosen to take a nap or something in the room, the loser, and everyone else had gone back to their own rooms after dinner), and they all ended up crammed into Crowley's limo. It was far too small for all of them, given that, for some reason, Sam wound up sprawled across Gabriel's lap, his legs thrown over Dean's. He whispered something in Gabriel's ear, and Gabriel _blushed _and _giggled_, which made Dean squish up as far away from them as possible and stare pleadingly at Cas and Jo alternately. Sam and Gabriel started getting a little handsy with each other, _way_ more handsy than Dean was comfortable with.

"For the love of all that is holy, _do __not _leave me on this side of the car while they have creepy moose-sex right next to me. After I die from _ew_, I'm going to come back and kill all of you. Cruel and unusual punishment, I swear."

"Someone doesn't like PDAs," Jo said, giggling.

Cas leaned over Crowley to address her. "On the contrary, Dean is quite fond of public displays of affection. He has engaged in several with me in front of similar company." Jo wiggled her eyebrows.

"Oh yeah? Tell me more."

Dean glared at Cas, panicking a little. "It's not what it sounds like. And Cas, if you tell her, I will do horrible things to you." But Jo only wiggled her eyebrows at that more. Winked at him.

"Careful, Cas, he might start withholding sex," she warned mockingly.

"I would say that is an accurate description of our current situation. He doesn't 'put in', as you might say."

"Put _out_," Dean corrected through gritted teeth. But Jo just gave him a falsely scandalized look, a hand on her chest.

"Dean! I'm surprised at you! Or are you just saving yourself for your wedding night? You know what they say on your wedding day, a man's greatest gift to his husband is his ass-virginity. Or do they say that in prison?" Dean watched in horror as Cas opened his mouth (he knew he could say several incriminating things about his "ass-virginity" if he wanted, and all of them would carve a black hole into Dean's chest) but he closed it right away, looking at Dean for a long moment.

"What?" asked Jo, grinning, looking between them. "What am I missing?"

Dean glared at her, dead serious, but didn't say anything, gave her a clear message to back off. She sort of crumpled back into her seat, then turned to Crowley, who looked very much like he would have preferred to take the passenger seat.

"What do you think? I'd be willing to bet they have sex before they start the honeymoon."

Crowley shook his head. "No. Not these two. My money is on a year, two years at the most." He seemed unconcerned with the prospective wager.

"Not gonna take the bet?" Dean raised an eyebrow. Maybe he really did prefer men?

Crowley looked at him like he was an idiot (not different from his usual default expression). "I would be taking advantage. She's drunk and clearly underestimates the will of a man with a hetero-normative identity complex. There's no sport in it." Jo rolled her eyes. In a weird sort of way, Crowley's words pissed him off. He didn't have a _complex_. His friends (loose term) were just seeing what they wanted and missing the rest. Like how totally non-functioning he and Cas would be in a real relationship. Sure, they had a deep connection and all of that, but they didn't have a whole lot of common interests, and personality-wise, they were both too stubborn to get along with each other for long.

Dean thought about that for a moment because, technically, he was wrong; they already had almost all of the aspects of a relationship. They hadn't pushed each other away yet, and they'd been together for a long time. But that wasn't really how he was imagining them in a relationship. There was something about how they were then, this feeling Dean had, like he was always holding back. He _was_. He wasn't really open or honest with Cas when he could avoid it, or at least he didn't feel like he was. It all boiled down to the fact that Dean didn't want Cas to know all of him. There were some bits best left hidden, and maybe Cas knew most of them, but Dean didn't want Cas inside of him like that. Hell, he hardly knew the guy. Knew his mannerisms, his preferences, his day-to-day, but when he looked at Cas, he was an iceberg and Dean was the Titanic. There were secrets there, he knew it, and they were dangerous. Cas was dangerous. Not just physically.

Then again, Cas already held most of his soul in his hands, the quivering mess it was, and he could squeeze every last drop from it if he wanted. There were so many ways he could not just break Dean, but grind the pieces into the ground beneath his heel. He'd given Cas the gun and the ammunition and taught him how to use it without even really telling him not to. Basically, he was fucked. If Cas ever decided to turn on him, he was fucked a million times over.

It was surprising to realize how much he relied on Cas to hold his fire.


	13. Chapter 12

Half an Hour Later

The Presidential Suite

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><p>Dean couldn't pull his eyes away. It was like a thousand naughty daydreams, only with a teensy bit more clothing.<p>

Jo licked the trail of tequila up Candi's (_or __was __it __Scarlet? __Kelli? __Karma? __Dean __couldn__'__t __remember __their __names __that __well_) stomach all the way to the valley between her breasts, where Gabriel was pouring the shot with an amused smirk. She winked at Dean before taking the lime from the stripper's mouth with her own, shaking her hair back as her face pinched at the bitter taste. Dean wanted to marry her. Or just watch her do that again. Naked.

"Jo Harvelle, you are a glorious woman." She giggled. It was her third shot since getting in the room and she stumbled as she headed to the couch.

"Careful, Dean, too much talk like that and we'll be doing body shots off _you_."

"Is that a promise?"

She burst into a fit of giggles, twisting herself so she was on the couch upside-down. "You boys go for it, think 'm done for the night." Gabriel looked at Sam like maybe he was thinking that body shots were a good idea but for the wrong Winchester.

"Sorry, thanks but no thanks. And you guys better not do anything you wouldn't want Bobby seeing." Bobby had, on their arrival, gone to Dean and Cas' room to try to sleep through their madness. He wasn't going to be happy when they woke him up to kick him out, less so if Dean woke him up to make Sam and Gabriel quit doing the nasty.

Dean looked at the couch Jo wasn't on. Cas was sitting there, watching but not really participating. Well, he was kind of shy. When Dean used to try to get him to talk to women (a long time ago, since he'd given up before they lived together), he usually freaked out like a total nerd. Thing was, now, he was drunk-ish, though he hadn't had much to drink since coming back to the room, but it still might make him more responsive to a girl.

The stripper who had draped herself across the bar for Jo's body shots was sitting up, flirting with Gabriel. Sam looked less than pleased, which was code for _he __looked __like __a __little __bitch_. Dean would let them mess around. He found the other stripper, who was just emerging from the bathroom in Sam and Gabriel's room.

Dean sidled up to her. "So, hey, Candi-"

"Chastity." He grinned sheepishly. He'd had enough to drink to not feel too guilty.

"Right. Chastity. So, you see my friend over there?" He subtly pointed out Cas, who had at least relaxed into his seat a little, but was looking at his hands weirdly. "He could use, you know, a little help. He likes you, but he's kinda shy, see-"

"Say no more." She smiled seductively, then sauntered over. Her hips swayed enticingly, showing off a really great ass clad in red, lacy panties that matched her bra. Yeah, Dean was kinda into that. Hopefully she was Cas' type too. Guy could use a little relaxation.

Dean went over to the bar to pour himself a shot of tequila. He leaned in to Gabriel and Sam, who'd been joined by a thirsty Crowley.

"I'm a great friend. Really."

Sam sighed. "What did you do this time?"

"Well, you know how Cas never gets laid, and I mean _never,_'cause he's kind of a Nervous Nelly when it comes to chicks?" Dean grinned, proud of himself. "I'm such an awesome friend, I got Chastity to, you know, chat with him a little." He looked over at the couches around the other stripper's chest (_and __what __a __lovely __chest __it __was_) to see Chastity gyrating those great hips, looking over her shoulder at Cas.

"You are such an _idiot_," Sam said. Chastity turned around, knees on either side of Cas'. Hands messing up her hair, her body rolled and twisted. All Dean could see of Cas was his knees. Dean had gotten a few lap dances in his lifetime, and he could tell: Chastity was good. Cas was getting a real treat. If he were Cas right then, he'd be fighting the urge to unbutton his pants, slip a hand in-

Chastity abruptly stopped, pushed herself away, making a sharp cry. She turned around, huffing, her face red. She grabbed her coat on her way over to the bar, then grabbed the other stripper's arm.

"We're _leaving_," she said to both the other woman and Crowley, then dragged her away, throwing an outraged "_Creep!_" behind her. Dean gaped, watching them leave, then turned his head sharply to Cas. He looked confused, like he wasn't sure what had happened. Dean went over.

"_Jesus_, what did you do? Did you touch her wrong? Because they usually give you a warning not to before they _up __and __leave_." Part of him was kind of pissed that Cas made the strippers leave, but mostly, he just didn't get it.

"She asked me if I liked her, and I said that you probably would because she had a nice body, and you could barely even see the scars from her plastic surgery. Referring, of course, to her breasts and some liposuction on her stomach and thighs, a nose job-"

"You said _what_? Cas, looking for plastic surgery on a stripper is like staying up to wait for Santa Claus and finding out it's your dad; it ruins the magic." He sighed, rubbed his face. "I just wanted you to have a good time. What's it gonna take?" The innocent look falls into something more like his look from dinner, the one that Dean had a hard time looking away from because it was so open, it just sucked him in.

"Let's play Truth or Dare," Jo said loudly, making Dean jump.

"Jeez! Gimme a heart attack, why don't you? I thought you passed out. And really, Truth or Dare? What are we, _twelve_?"

The, quietly, from Cas: "I've never played." Well, that was just sad. Really.

"We _must!_" Jo clapped her hands giddily, still upside-down. Dean sighed and fell onto the couch next to Cas.

"Sam, grab the Jack and bring your asses over here. Looks like we're playing Truth or Dare."

"I didn't know we were at your twelfth birthday party, Dean," Sam said, but he grabbed the bottle and Gabriel and came over. Crowley followed, looking both disgusted and excited at the prospect of embarrassing everyone.

"Yeah, yeah. Look, Cas has never played. That's horrible. I can't marry someone who's never even played Truth or Dare, so yeah, we're playing. One rule: Cas or I get a dare, we're not kissing each other. And no sex, either. I know you two. You already had your fun today."

"Solo or round robin?" Jo asked.

"Round robin?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. One person picks truth or dare, the person on their right decides what it'll be, but then everyone has to do it. Simple. You up for it?" There was a collective shrug of assent. "I'll go first: Crowley, truth or dare?"

He grimaced. "Must I participate?"

"If you aren't playing, you gotta leave the room. Like with Never Have I Ever." As he rolled his eyes, Dean considered the possibility that Cas had never played Never Have I Ever. That was just sad. But that was the kind of game Dean had to be totally sober to play, otherwise he'd pass out before Cas was even the tiniest bit tipsy.

"Fine," Crowley said. "Truth. I hope you all realize how juvenile this game is."

"Yup. So. Who was your first kiss?" Dean rolled his eyes. Totally middle school. And he already knew Sam's answer. Hell, he knew most of Sam's answers.

"Her name was Lilith. Complete bitch," Crowley said, shuddering at the memory.

Sam shrugged. "Amy Pond." Dean smirked. Sam's first girlfriend. They were together for three years in high school. She was a lot of his firsts.

"Anna," Gabriel said nonchalantly, and Cas gasped. He looked scandalized.

"I can't believe you!" he hissed. Dean and Gabriel looked at each other awkwardly because Sam was cocking his head. The overgrown child was too smart and too sober to let it slip past him.

"Wait, you know Gabriel's first kiss? How do you know her?" Sam asked, looking at both Gabriel and Cas. _Awkward_.

"Oh, well, Cas and I were talking a couple weeks ago and, what do you know, we both went to the same elementary school." Dean winced. Not the best excuse. Not at all. They were kinda fucked.

"Cas never went to elementary school." Sam looked at Dean now, confirming, because Dean told him once that Cas had been raised a soldier. "What aren't you telling me?" Dean sighed, poured himself a few mouthfuls of Jack and drank it all. What an awkward moment.

"Look, I was going to tell you, I just didn't know how, alright?" Gabriel said. He looked supremely uncomfortable, as he should. Dean didn't envy him.

"Tell me _what_, exactly?"

"I, well, I knew Cas before you introduced us. We, uh, served together." He looked pointedly at Jo because, well, _soldiers_ weren't supposed to know about what Cas and Gabriel did years ago, let alone civilians.

Sam looked completely shocked. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It didn't come up."

"_It __didn__'__t __come __up_? What are you talking about? _Months_ ago, when I told you I was a soldier, would've been a great time to speak up, Gabriel. Or, you know, any time at all after that. Because there's been a lot of time."

Gabriel threw his hands up in the air. "What was I supposed to say, Sammy? _Oh, __you __had __such __a __terrible __time __in __the __military __that __you __never __told __me __you __served, __hey, __what __a __coincidence, __I __have __a __whole __slew __of __traumatic __memories __I__'__d __like __to __forget! _So, what, you want me to share so we can hold each other and cry? In case you hadn't realized, some of us don't like to talk about our feelings." Sam was taken aback, but in a soft way. Dean recognized it as his Caring Mode. Jeez, he hadn't meant to sign up for an episode of Dr. Phil.

"You should've told me. We need to talk about this." He put a hand on Gabriel's knee. "I wish you told me sooner."

Dean cleared his throat loudly.

"We'll talk. Later." Sam looked at Cas, who was next, then jerked back to Gabriel. All soft-eyed and teary. Someone needed to get them a camera crew for their little chick flick moment.

"Okay, quit flirting. It's creepy. Let's move on," Dean said. The 'touching moment' wasn't the only reason; maybe he really wanted to know who Cas' first kiss was. She was probably gorgeous.

"Don't kid yourself. Cas' was Anna, too."

Cas' head flopped to the side, rolling his eyes at Gabriel. "I never kissed her. She was two years ahead of me, and eventually my commanding officer. It would be highly inappropriate."

"Who, then? Hannah? Oh lordy, not Sarah? Ruth, then?" Dean could swear Cas was blushing. It was the first time he'd ever seen Cas blush. It was...weird.

"I think I know," Sam said with a look that said he had a juicy bit of information.

Gabriel brushed him off. "Don't be silly. Okay, Cas, tell me it was Delilah. She was a little young for you, sure, but _hot_, if I remember it right."

"The age she was when you left makes that statement disturbing," Cas said. Dean noticed he was avoiding Gabriel's eyes.

"Oh." Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "You sly dog. _Balthazar_?" Cas choked as Dean remembered a blond asshole who kind of screwed them over a long time ago, some English guy who kept flirting with Cas.

"Please say no," Dean said. That would be too horrible. Cas had better taste than that, he had to, and that wasn't even taking into consideration the fact that Cas wasn't into dudes.

"It most certainly _was __not_ Balthazar." Gabriel huffed at that and fell back into his seat, arms crossed over his chest. He looked pretty annoyed.

"Well, I'm out of options."

"No, I think I got it," Sam said, nodding at Cas. "Go on. Say it." Jeez. Who was his first kiss? It wasn't like they knew her anyway. Unless...Could it be? No. Ridiculous. There was no way Cas' first kiss was-

"Meg?" Dean asked, trying to beg to be proven wrong. Cas shook his head vigorously. Okay, really, it wasn't even a big deal. Why didn't he just tell them already?

Cas sighed and covered his eyes with a hand, like he wanted to be anywhere else. "Dean," he said clearly.

"No, man, it's still your turn."

Sam burst out with a bark of laughter. "How do you even have enough brain cells to _function_?" Dean sniffed. That was uncalled for.

"No one likes a bitch, Sam. And I'm pretty smart, thank you very much. Cas, it's still your turn."

"It's a good thing you're not gonna reproduce, that's all I'm saying. We don't need anyone as dense as you in this world." Now Dean's pride was injured. First off, who said he wasn't having kids? Second, he wasn't stupid.

"What is _with_ you?" he hissed. Cas' hand on his arm stilled him.

"I gave my answer," Cas said. "It's your turn, now."

Dean thought for a minute, trying to remember the whole exchange. It was like a riddle or something. But Cas didn't give any names. Didn't make sense.

"Oh, for christsakes, you _blathering __idiot_," Crowley exclaimed with a dramatic roll of the eyes. "_You_. As in _Dean __Winchester, _youwere his first kiss. Personally, I think Darwin would advise us to kill you for the sake of the human race's evolutionary progression." Dean twisted his head, trying to wrap it around the idea. He couldn't be Cas' first kiss. Cas was _older_ than him. They kissed for the first time maybe two months ago. But Cas was at least thirty then (he didn't actually have a birthday, Dean had been disappointed to learn).

But that meant that Cas' first kiss was in front of Becky and Chuck and Sam and Gabriel and _oh __god_, that was a terrible kiss. It wasn't supposed to be good, it was just supposed to make Becky go away. Seriously, if a guy was going to have his first kiss at thirty or whatever, it should at least be a fucking awesome one. Hopefully leading up to awesome sex.

Dean looked at Cas, who looked oddly uncomfortable. "Jesus, I'm so sorry. I mean, of all the first kisses, that was _shitty_. God, I didn't even think-"

"_Dean_." Those blue eyes were wide. "Are you _apologizing_?" Dean vaguely heard Crowley snort and Sam let out an exasperated noise.

"Yeah, I mean, it was _awful_. I probably had pizza-breath and I wasn't exactly going for the gold there. It should've been _way _better. And, Christ, I didn't even _ask_, I just went for it. I'm sorry. If I had known, I would've made it better."

Cas' face fell into that open look again. "More like earlier?" Dean looked down, realizing that, well, _yeah_. That was probably how he would've done it, maybe even better, no, definitely better because it should've been perfect. Cas deserved that, at least.

"Yeah. More like earlier. _Better_." Jeez, he felt guilty. First kisses were like virginity. Well, okay, that was a lie because Dean never gave much credence to the idea of virginity, but since Cas hadn't even had sex, his first kiss should've been like that. Dean would've done it like that, like you do a blushing virgin, gently and tenderly and all of that shit.

And then he looked up and realized, okay, they were in each other's personal space a little bit too much and, yeah, while he wished he could've made that first kiss a little better, he couldn't exactly do anything about it now even though it sort of felt, for just a second, that he was gonna try. Only that would totally defeat the purpose. And be pretty overwhelmingly gay.

"Cassie Robinson," Dean said, looking away from Cas finally.

"Ash Miles." Jo smiled fondly at the memory, then looked at Dean expectantly.

"Jo, truth or dare?"

"Truth." She grinned eagerly. "Gimme something good." Dean thought for a moment, then smirked. He had a dirty one.

"Favorite sexual position."

Jo giggled. "Reverse Cowgirl, hands down." Dean's eyebrows rose; he hadn't been expecting her to answer so quickly (or at all), let alone with _that_. Hot.

He looked at Crowley, fearing what he might hear. Dude looked like a kinky bastard.

"Missionary," he said dryly, making Dean sputter. Not what he was expecting.

"Wait, seriously? I had you pegged for something weird and probably illegal in a few states."

"If it leaves this room, your tiny imaginations won't be able to comprehend with what I'll do to you." Dean nodded, fully believing the promise. And then he looked at Sam. Quickly wished he hadn't. Sam was smirking, and dear god, Dean did not want to hear whatever he was about to say.

"Inverted Praying Mantis."

"Bullshit," Dean said automatically. "That's not even a real thing."

"Oh, _it __is_," Gabriel said, nodding emphatically. "And I'm gonna have to say ditto for mine."

"Come on. You totally just made that up to gross me out." Dean _knew_ Sam, knew he would fuck with him like that, but at the same time, he didn't really want a real answer to the question. But then Sam hopped up, ran to the bar, messed with something, and came back with a cocktail napkin. Dean looked at the sketch and fought the urge to vomit because he was seeing faces on those goddamn stick figures and that was just wrong.

"Is this even physically possible?" Both Gabriel and Sam nodded quickly, and Dean gagged, throwing the cocktail napkin to the floor. "So, I'm going to drink until I forget that moment." He grabbed the bottle of Jack and kind of claimed it for his own. They could all go fuck themselves. And that thought made him try to gulp the bottle down in one go, resulting in some coughing and spitting.

"So, Cas, whattaya got?" Sam asked. It made Dean remember what they were doing and shoot him a glare. It wasn't right to ask a virgin their favorite sexual position, and Dean maybe wanted to protect him from the teasing Cas would no doubt be on the wrong end of if they found out.

"It's okay," Dean said quickly and started to come up with a reason to get him out of it, but Sam put up his hand.

"Dean, you're the one who came up with the question." Sam looked at Cas. "Even if you don't have a whole lot of..._experience_, just come up with something." The thing was, Dean knew that Sam was only doing it to mess with Dean. Sam didn't care at all, but he knew, somehow, that it would piss Dean off. That was all this was. It was petty.

Cas took the bottle out of Dean's hands and took a few swallows. He did seem pretty uncomfortable, but then, Dean was too. A little liquid courage was needed, if only for Dean's secondhand embarrassment.

"I suppose up against a wall," Cas said dryly, his voice a little raw-sounding from the burn of the alcohol. Dean choked a little. Sex against a wall was pretty fucking dirtyhot. Not, like, inside either. No, a brick wall, maybe an alley, at night, just desperate and needy as hell. Was that what Cas thought about when he-

"Dean?" Sam asked, and Dean wanted to punch him in his bitchy, know-it-all face. He looked so smug, and Dean didn't even know why.

His immediate instinct was to say wall sex considering that the kind of blurry image in his mind at the moment was too fucking hot to resist, but he realized just before he said it how gay it would sound. Sam would obviously say that since they both enjoyed it so much, might as well enjoy it together. But that gave Dean just a flash of Cas looking at him like he had in their room, just the ghost of brick rubbing his back raw. That wasn't something he wanted to think about. Ever.

"Doggy style. It's a classic." Sam rolled his eyes at that, his face not too far off from his _Bullshit_ face, but Dean really didn't give a fuck. He turned to Cas, waiting for him to ask.

"I do not have a truth or dare prepared," he confessed, hugging the bottle to his chest. He sipped from it like it was a baby bottle.

"We can just skip you. We'll come back around. Gabriel?" If anyone was annoyed that Dean was bending the rules for Cas, they didn't say anything.

"Truth or dare, Cassie?"

"Dare." Dean's stomach shifted. One of the last people he wanted a dare from was Gabriel. The bastard was _crafty_.

Gabriel shrugged. "There's four bottles of chocolate sauce in the fridge-" Dean didn't want to know why "-so howabout each person has to lick a shot glass-full of chocolate sauce off of the person on their left?" That was...creepy, Dean decided, looking around the room. That meant Gabriel would be licking Cas (not cool), Jo would be licking Crowley, and Crowley, Sam. That was ten kinds of weird.

"That's a little extreme," Dean said. But then he considered it; Gabriel never said _where_ it had to be licked off of, and he'd come up with something craftier, given the chance. "Actually, you know what? That'll be fine."

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "Not so fast." He pulled out his wallet and withdrew a quarter. "Heads, you can lick a hand or arm. Tails, chest or stomach." Those were actually pretty fair odds. Still, Dean leaned forward and checked to make sure it wasn't a trick coin or anything like that.

"Let's just do it and get it over with."

Gabriel went through them all, flipping the coin in order. It was just Dean's fucking luck that Cas got tails, but then so did he. The creep factor was lessened when Jo got heads, but Crowley didn't, and neither did Sam. Gabriel was fortunate to have gotten heads, otherwise Dean would not have been pleased.

As Gabriel got the chocolate sauce and Sam the shot glasses, Dean took the bottle of Jack back and gulped it down until he coughed and sputtered, then handed it back. He needed to be about twenty times more drunk than he was then to be able to sit through Cas licking anything off of him. Cas seemed to think the drinking idea was a good one, though, because he had his lips glued around the bottle. Well, until Gabriel handed him a bottle of chocolate sauce and both of them shot glasses.

Cas took them solemnly, then turned his attention to Dean. "Lay back," he ordered, then handed Dean both of the shot glasses. He filled one to the top, put both of his bottles down, and took it. Dean, head and shoulders resting against the arm of the couch, tried not to succumb to his more base instincts and get the fuck out of there. There was something terrifying about how blank Cas' face was as he spread Dean's legs, got between them, and pushed his shirt all the way up. His breath quickened. It felt like he was about to get a blowjob or something, the way they were positioned, and that was just weird.

Cas poured the chocolate sauce down from his sternum to his navel with a creepy sort of focus. Like he was studying something. But man, that shit was cold. When Cas leaned down to his stomach, every muscle in his body tensed. It was fucking ridiculous, the stupid dare. That they were doing this.

There was just a second where Cas' eyes met his, and then there was a pink _tongue _twisting around his navel, hot and surprisingly detail-oriented. It was like he was trying to make sure Dean wasn't sticky later (which was actually possible, the idiot), but Dean could barely think about that because _tongue_. _Tongue_. Tongue belonging to _Cas_. On his _stomach_. Holy flying fuck. Cas' hands moved to press down on his hips, holding him in place because, he'd never admit to it later, but Dean was wound so tight he was trembling from it. He had a weird, sudden urge to twist his hand in Cas' hair, maybe just to convey to him that _his __belly __button __felt __pretty __fucking __clean __already, __could __he __please __move __on? _But Cas was already on it like white on rice, slowly lapping up the trail of chocolate towards Dean's chest.

With both his hands on Dean's hips, his shirt was starting to ride lower, almost touching the chocolate line. Cas pushed the fabric up and held it out of the way with one hand, holding it higher than it needed to be. His hand was hot, resting on Dean's pec, just by his nipple, and okay, he needed to hurry up because Dean had sensitive nipples and nerve endings and Cas' tongue was just inching upwards, doubling back over where he'd cleared like he was fucking tasting him, and all of it was starting to blur in his mind.

His body always reacted to stuff easily, especially sexual stuff, and Cas trying to hit every pore with his tongue was one of those things that his body was categorizing as sexual, despite his brain yelling at it not to. Thing was, his body controlled his blood, a significant amount of which was heading south like it was fucking migrating for the winter. Not good. Really not good, what with Cas' chest like, _right __above_ his body's equivalent of the Bahamas, and the tourists were starting to get a little over-excited.

And then Cas finished, sat back up, went straight for the bottle of Jack. Dean laid there for a second, stunned, then remembered that he was probably sporting a more-than-visible bulge, and his shirt was hiked all the way up, revealing a very clear, pink trail where Cas' mouth had been. Christ, he needed to be a million miles away, but he settled for jerking into a sitting position, trying to make himself look decent.

Jo was looking at them with a raised eyebrow. "Hot." He ignored her, eyes flitting to see Crowley and, _Sweet __Jesus, he __never __needed __that __image __in __his __mind __ever __again_. Gabriel and Sam were quite finished, the former edging over to Cas, so Dean grabbed the damn bottle of chocolate sauce and half-heartedly filled his shot glass with it. Jo sighed, laid back, lifting her shirt halfway up her stomach.

"Do anything weird, and I'll kill you in the morning. Or tell my mother."

Dean grimaced. That was a very real threat. "I'll go fast. Relax."

He poured it in a hasty line across her stomach, just over her belly button, then set to it. Part of him wished he could take a minute to enjoy it, but Ellen Harvelle was terrifying, just a little, and he really just wanted to be done with the whole mess.

It only took maybe a minute, just long enough to get most of the mess off, and Dean sat back in his seat. His head was buzzing, more likely from the alcohol than the fact that he'd just been very, very close to a gorgeous woman, which was a serious comment on the sad state of things.

He still kept drinking, though. He and Cas passed the bottle of Jack between them quickly for a moment while Sam decided on what his dare for them would be. It wasn't long before Dean realized that the bottle was empty, he and Cas passing it back and forth, holding it upside-down fruitlessly. That was about the time that Dean realized how much he just wanted to curl up and sleep, he was that inebriated.

"Fuck it, I dare everyone to go to bed. You idiots are about to pass out over there, and you-" he was looking at Gabriel "-and I need to talk."

Jo rolled off of the couch and made it to her feet. "Thank god. I was starting to think one of you was going to have to carry me back to my room." She ruffled Sam's hair clumsily and sort of stumbled on her way. "See ya, boys. Can't wait to see how hungover you are in the morning." She waggled her fingers at them and left. Crowley was already getting up by then, making his exit.

"Thankfully, I won't have to see any of you again after tonight, but I hope you have lots of unresolved sexual tension. Enjoy."

Sam and Dean got up at the same time, both pulling their respective partners with them to their rooms. Dean opened the door to their bedroom weakly, saw Bobby sprawled on top of the comforter.

"Hey, Bobby." The gruff man stirred. "We need the bed." He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Dean had his arm draped across Cas' shoulders, more for support than anything else. Well, technically, he was kind of clinging to the guy.

Bobby eyed them and shook his head. "Boy, you are drunk as a skunk." He left them, slow with sleep, leaving the impression of a scowl in his wake. As soon as he was out of the room, Dean closed the door. Really, the last thing he wanted to do was go through the long, tedious process of getting undressed.

He let out a noise of discontent and fell backwards on the bed.

It took him a minute to realize that his boots were being unlaced and pulled off, then his socks. Cas pulled him up by the shoulder until he was making a sad attempt at standing and then his hands were at Dean's zipper. He was too out of it to care, even when Cas lifted his shirt up over his head.

After Dean fell back onto the bed, he dragged himself up to get his head on a pillow and make use of the covers. He was only really half there, vaguely aware of the sensation of warmth and comfort that grew a little when something else warm and comfortable pressed itself to him.


	14. Chapter 13

The Next Morning

Dean and Cas' Room

* * *

><p>"<em>Wakey <em>_wakey, __eggs __and __bakey!_"

Dean nearly cried out as he was yanked out of sleep by the terrible noise.

"Wow. You are so _pathetic_." There was a flash of light and Dean buried his face into the warm, soft thing under his head. "These pictures are going to be hilarious later on. Now get up. You've got breakfast and a wedding to get to."

"_Jesus__fucking__Christ_, Sam! Stop yelling!" Dean groaned. His brain was about ten million times too big for his head, but all squished up in there and it was making it really fucking hard to even think about moving.

"I'm not. There's aspirin waiting for you if you get up. Try not to have any more sex on your way to the table."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Dean clutched his pillow tighter, trying to block out Sam's existence by pressing his face into more. It wasn't as soft as he remembered, but it was warm and that was good enough.

Sam laughed, loud and piercing. "Just that you're naked and wrapped around Cas. Who's really being a great sport about it all." Dean's brain wasn't really processing that. The synapses weren't firing in the right order or something. It didn't compute.

"I do not believe we had intercourse." Dean knew that voice well, the way it sounded in his ears, but it took him a second to realize why he was _feeling_that low rumble. He stiffened, eyes shooting open. They were met with skin. _Shitshitshit_.

"Have fun, you two!"

Dean growled at that, trying to force himself into consciousness still. So, some skin-covered part of Cas, probably his chest, was acting as his pillow. Okay, he could handle that. But then he started becoming aware of other parts of his body. Like his legs. One of which was nearly twisted around what he thought might be Cas' hip. The other was touching Cas' leg, and one of his arms was slung across what was probably Cas' belly. And, okay, there was some crotch-contact. Sweet merciful Jesus, it was a good thing he was too hungover to wake up with a little morning wood like he usually did.

Dean immediately tried to push himself up and away, but his head spun and he fell back onto Cas' chest with a groan.

"Fuck. Sorry. _ShitfuckJesus_, my _head_."

Cas patted him awkwardly on the head.

But then his brain started working a little more and didn't like what it found. "Sam said I was naked. Am I naked? Are _you _naked? Fuck, please say no."

"We're both wearing underwear, if it's any consolation. The sheets would have hidden that from his angle." Dean pushed himself up again, this time more effectively. He held himself up, looked around for a second. They were sideways on the bed, the covers a mess, and he was kind of sort of halfway between straddling Cas' legs and lying between them. He was mostly on top of the guy. Shit.

Quickly, he extricated himself from Cas' person. "My god, I'm sorry. I don't even wanna know how we got like that."

"I have no idea. I don't remember much of last night, which might be due to a very pressing headache." Cas, still in the same position, blanched. "I think I might need to vomit." Puking in bed was not cool.

"Bathroom. All yours." Cas rolled out of bed with a surprising amount of grace. Well, not really grace, just the ease that came with knowing and trusting your body. Sureness. Sureness that didn't leave even as he walked quickly to the bathroom. A second later, Dean hear him retch, which made him a little queasy and guilty. Like he should be helping him or something, since he was the one who wanted Cas to get drunk in the first place.

That guilt made Dean hobble over into the bathroom and fill a glass of water for him. Cas heaved again, then let out a little noise of discomfort. Dean handed him the water, watched the way he swirled a gulp in his mouth and spit it into the toilet. He flushed and stood, but his face looked a little worse for wear.

"Come on. Brush your teeth, then we'll get some food in you. You'll feel better, I promise."

* * *

><p>Five minutes later, they were seated at the bar with plates of eggs and pancakes and bacon and everything good in the world. Dean was scarfing his down because a) he was hungry and b) he knew that food and aspirin were the two best ways to get over a hangover.<p>

When he'd cleared his plate, he looked up at Sam's disgusted face (possibly at his eating habits, no surprises there), and told him: "To be clear, there was no sex. We were both clothed. Just so you know."

"Oh, of course," Sam said. "And I've got the pictures to prove it."

Dean paled. "What pictures?" Sam only grinned. "Dammit, show me the pictures!"

"Oh, you'll see them, alright. I'm thinking of getting one of those wall things, where they make you a giant 8-foot wide poster of whatever picture you send them. I'm thinking it'll go over your marriage bed. Maybe some wallet-sized ones to give to everyone. Keychains." Sam grinned. "_Christmas __cards_. Everyone we've ever met will get the full-color photo with cursive beneath it. _Merry __Christmas __from __Dean __and __Cas! __Staying __at __home __for __the __holidays!_ This is going to be great."

"I'm officially disowning you. You are not my brother. You never were. We're not even related."

"I love you too." Sam sipped his orange juice, then set it down, a bright look in his eyes. "Coffee mugs! That's what I'll put it on!"

Dean threw a piece of bacon at him.

"Fuck you. I'm going to take a shower."

* * *

><p>When Dean found himself under the near-waterfall coming out of the multiple shower heads, he sighed. The problem with showers was that they let him mind think too much. He didn't want to think at the moment. The only thing in his mind was the thought that, <em>Holy <em>_shit, __he __was __going __to __be __married __in __a __few __hours_.

Thinking about the rest of his life in terms of the impending marriage just creeped him out. He was going to be someone's husband. Fuck. A married guy. How weird.

So he thought about the ceremony instead. He didn't actually know a whole lot about it because he never paid attention to Becky, but he knew that it was going to be pretty chill and they had a lawyer/priest (however he came to be both was beyond Dean) who was going to do the honors. It was simple. They repeat after him, say their 'I do's, kiss, and they were on their merry way. Dean allowed himself a second to be thankful for Becky because she was the reason he wasn't super uncomfortable about the fact that he'd be kissing Cas in front of everyone he knew. Been there, done that, got the ironic t-shirt about having the t-shirt. Well, except that only Becky and Chuck and Sam and Gabriel and Bobby had seen him and Cas lock lips. Not Jo, not Ellen, not Missouri, who would no doubt have a thing or two to say. She'd slapped Dean upside the head on behalf of their not-relationship enough times to prove it. How great.

That said, Dean was still going to make it awesome. So he might not have given Cas the best first kiss, but he sure as hell would give him the best wedding kiss of his life. The only one. Obviously.

Dean got out of the shower, toweled off, and dressed in his tux carefully. As he was pulling on his pants, Cas came in, stopped for a second, then went on into the bathroom. The shower started a second later. Dean buckled his belt, pulled on an undershirt, then knocked on the bathroom door.

"Hey, can I come in for deodorant?" There was the metal-sliding-on-metal sound of the shower door being opened.

"Of course," Cas said, his voice muffled through the door. He sounded kind of wet, like he'd just pulled his face out of the stream of water.

Dean went in quickly, found his deodorant on the counter. The room was kind of steamy, the mirror mostly fogged, but he could still sort of see in it the vague form of the body behind the shower curtain. He wasn't moving, just standing there under the water with his hands braced against the tile near the dial. Dean did that sometimes, when he needed to think or when he was stressed or when he... _Shit_. Okay, not going to think of his best friend jerking off when said best friend was, well, naked. That was a little too weird.

He rubbed the deodorant on quickly, then ran a hand over his face. Jeez, he had bad stubble. The last time he shaved had been in a gas station bathroom, and it had been dry and quick. There was no way he could get freaking married with scruff like that on his face. And he didn't want to put on his nice shirt until after he shaved because the last thing he needed was to cut himself and get blood on a perfectly good shirt. Shit.

"Hey, I don't want it to be weird or anything, but do you mind if I shave? I'll be quick, I promise." It wasn't like they'd never seen each other naked before and they were uncomfortable, but showers were sacred, Dean respected that. It was a little too much like actually being a married couple to be that comfortable when one of them was in the shower. Not that Cas, with his lack of social understanding, hadn't barged in on him a few times in the early days, but now they gave each other their space in the bathroom.

"That's fine. I'll be finished shortly." Dean got his shaving kit out, wiped a circle of mirror clear, filled the sink with water. He noticed that Cas went for the shampoo, the outline of his body clearer in the mirror. Not that that was strange or anything. It was normal to do shower things in the shower, obviously. Jesus, Dean was being weird. Shouldn't have had so much to drink the night before.

As he spread shaving cream over his face, he tried not to think about last night. The point of the bachelor party was always to do crazy shit that he would have trouble remembering, but then, he wasn't having a whole lot of trouble.

No, sliding the razor up to his jaw, he found he could remember it with surprising clarity. The way he made a damn fool of himself with that speech at dinner, the way Cas closed his eyes when he sang, the way his eyes looked sunken when he bemoaned the fact that he thought he wasn't good-looking, the curious look on his face when he told Dean why the stripper had left, his face when Dean realized he'd been Cas' first kiss, the feel of his tongue around Dean's navel while one hand held him down like he knew what he was doing. Dean fidgeted, trying to snap his mind out of it. It wasn't right to be thinking of some guy's tongue when he was naked and just a few feet away.

Dean glanced in the mirror at him. Cas was bent over, scrubbing his shins, and as he watched, he moved up to his knees, thighs. And Dean's eyes would stop right there. He looked at himself in the mirror. Not a good idea. He looked pretty fucking freaked out. Shaking it off, he went on shaving, trying to think about other things. Like getting back home and back to his life. Going back to the shop, getting under the carriage of a sweet ride and ending up covered in grease. Normality. Not this dumb gay wedding bullshit, the normal stuff, the actual life he was doing it for. He and Cas would be chill and normal when they got back, no more kissing or anything. Everything would just be right again. Finally. Dean couldn't fucking wait.

The water stopped. Dean's hand stopped guiding the razor over his cheek in mid-stroke. There was the slick sound of Cas brushing water off of himself. His hand reached out, felt around, but the towel rack was out of reach. Dean put his razor down and pulled the towel down, handed it to him. Through the crack between the curtain and wall, Dean saw Cas give him a short, appreciative smile. Dean hurried back to finish shaving, but before he was even at the sink again, Cas was pushing the shower door open and holding the towel around his waist.

See, the funny thing about Cas, something that came from the military, something that never went away, was that he had absolutely no shame in his body. It wasn't like Dean was a girl about being naked or anything, but he still preferred to be clothed when he was around other people. Well, okay, not women. Women were different, but that was another story completely. But, see, Cas just didn't fucking care. It was like it didn't matter to him either way whether he was clothed or not, but he understood that it wasn't socially acceptable and that was why he wore clothing all the time. Dean had seen him change in front of him countless times (not on purpose, but he didn't really give a whole lot of warning) and it was like he just didn't _get_ that he was supposed to be embarrassed, at least a little, or even, like some guys Dean served with, proud and arrogant about his body, showing it off.

But Cas just pulled his towel off, rubbed his head with it, started drying off. Dean had to look away, focusing on shaving like it was the single most important thing he'd done in his life. It was just kind of seriously distracting to have someone, well, _naked_, in the room with you. Not cool. They really were going to have to have a talk about it. Sometime.

It almost made Dean laugh when Cas hung up the towel, picked up his clothing and walked, still naked, back into the bedroom to get changed. Okay, Dean would admit, he knew a nice ass when he saw one, and he definitely just saw one. That was the kind of ass that you saw in porn where they actually bothered to show that much of the dude because great asses transcend gender. But that had nothing to do with anything. The only important thing at that moment was the fact that Dean still hadn't fucking finished shaving because he was weird and stupid and got distracted easily by things that didn't make sense.

A few minutes later, he splashed water on his face, rinsing off the remains of the shaving cream, then grabbed a hand towel to dry off his face. When he looked up in the mirror, he saw that Cas was _right __fucking __behind __him_. He jerked up, spun, almost hit Cas, he was so close.

"Jesus, Cas. Personal space. Don't creep up on a dude when he's bent over something. It's kind of rapey." Cas frowned deeply, weirdly deeply. Huh.

"I'm sorry my presence made you feel threatened with sexual violence. That was not my intent." Jeez, could he look more like a wounded puppy? And guilty, too. The guy needed to chill out.

"Dude, that's not what I meant. It's more of an expression than anything else. Okay?" Cas looked less frowny. "Now, what did you creep up on me for?"

"I don't know how to tie a bow tie." He shrugged helplessly.

Dean grinned. "Here, let me." Dean buttoned his top two shirt buttons, then carefully tied the bow tie. He adjusted it, made it nice and neat, centered.

"Alright. There. You're good. Looking sharp. If I were your blushing bride, I'd have my way with you." Dean smirked, clapping him on the arm. "Come on. I gotta finish getting ready."


	15. Chapter 14

Two Hours Later

* * *

><p>Dean was torn. Should he be freaking ecstatic that Becky picked a pretty awesome fucking place for the wedding, or pissed off that he was about to get married in the basement of a record and comic book store? He was leaning towards the former. It was pretty fucking sweet. The walls were covered in old record covers and vintage superhero posters. She'd said something about how it used to be a speakeasy, how some Beat poet had camped out there for a little while to smoke pot and throw a couple wild parties.<p>

At the moment, though, there were chairs and an aisle and everyone Dean knew. He and Cas were standing at the front, listening to the little break between songs before "Whole Lotta Love" started playing. Dean smirked. Oh yeah. It was a man's wedding.

His palms were still sweating, though.

It was another minute or so before the priest/lawyer abomination came over to stand at the joke of an altar (a few crates stacked up, old, worn concert tour stickers visible). So, it was technically a non-denominational ceremony. Neither he or Cas was religious, not anymore, but Dean was a little bit of a traditionalist, and he couldn't imagine a wedding without a priest. The guy was from one of those churches that does the pride parades and that shit, did weddings before the states recognized them, and he apparently (according to Becky) had a friggin' law degree, go figure. However Becky found him, she'd talked to him, and she'd stressed to Dean and Cas that he was a real stickler for marriage equality. As in, he'd be really fucking pissed off if a couple of idiots married for reasons other than love because it would go against everything he'd fought for.

That was why Dean made sure he smiled at Cas, tried to look like he was _super __duper __excited_ instead of a little queasy. Because it could all be a mistake. It was possible that right after they got married, Dean would meet the girl of his dreams and they'd be screwed. Well, they'd just get it annulled, but whatever. The idea was there. That they were about to enter something that was supposed to be permanent and maybe that wasn't a good thing.

But instead of wringing his hands like a girl, he smiled wide and raised his eyebrows encouragingly, like, _Can __you __believe __it? __We__'__re __actually __going __to __do __it!_ Like it was a good thing. Cas smiled in response, looked all fucking warm and glowy, and that only made Dean jealous that he was so good at acting.

That wasn't really the way to think about it though, was it? No. He was going to marry his best friend because he'd never known anyone who just _got __him_ the way Cas did and he couldn't even visualize not still knowing him, living with him, forty, fifty years down the road. They were tighter than tight. And you know what? He wasn't going to let his best friend go like that. He was going to marry him because that was what you did when you found someone you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

It wasn't until Dean thought it, just like that, that he understood that it was true. He really, really did plan on spending the rest of his life with Cas because the idea of anything else was downright weird. It was just a fact. They were going to be hanging out for the rest of their lives. And that was awesome.

That time, when Dean grinned, it was totally genuine.

"Hello, friends and family members," the priest began. "We're here to witness the union of two individuals..." _Blah__blah__blah_, Dean translated. He wasn't going to pay attention. He always fell asleep on the rare occasion that they went to church when he was a kid because, hey, that shit was boring, and now, the only way he was going to stay awake through this was to think of something else. Distract himself. So he grinned at Cas a little more, snuck the odd look or two at Sam, his best man, who looked so happy it was like _he_was the one tying the knot. _Bitch_. He'd probably catch the bouquet. Well, if there _was_ a bouquet. Dean had vetoed flowers, and Becky had demanded a kiss as compensation, but he thought she was secretly glad she didn't have to deal with a florist or any of that.

Cas looked great, though. Even if it was an act, he still looked like the happiest guy in the room, and it was pretty tough to beat Sam on that one. Dean didn't see him smile a whole lot, so it was nice to see one practically breaking his face in two, stretching the corners of his mouth, baring his teeth. A full, real smile. It made something in Dean's chest sit right to see him that happy, even if it wasn't real, but he could pretend it was, and it made Dean almost beam. A blissfully happy Cas wasn't something he ever thought he'd see. It was pretty freaking amazing. Dean wanted to take a picture, just to be able to say _Look! __I __have __proof! __Your __face __can __look __like __this! __You __can __smile __like __this. __It__'__s __strange __and __amazing __and __your __face __can __make __this __shape. _That was pretty pathetic, thinking like that, but even if he didn't like to admit it, Dean liked seeing people happy. Especially the people he liked. Exclusively the people he liked. Cas was at the top of that list, just below Sam.

Dean was pretty much out of it after that. He said his lines, repeated after the priest, and it wasn't until Cas was repeating his name that Dean realized what was going on. They were almost done. Nearly there.

He almost forgot again as he watched, a little in awe, Cas' face, still lit up like the Fourth of July. Fucking perfect. That was when Dean decided before he could even think about it that he was going to do anything he could for him. Cas had given him way more than he was worth, and even if the best Dean had wasn't enough, he'd still give it. Cas was worth it.

"You may kiss."

And just like that, Dean grabbed Cas bodily, twisted and dipped him like they were an Old Hollywood couple. Cas' eyes went wide, taken complete by surprise, his mouth falling open just a little. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean heard a warm laugh from the direction of the seats, but he figured they could go fuck themselves as he closed the stupid space between their lips. He kept it soft, one hand supporting Cas' head and holding him close, let his tongue dip into Cas' open mouth, but held back. Didn't go for the tonsils, just kept it sweet and simple, the way a first kiss should be, the one Cas never had.

It felt like it lasted forever, but Dean pulled away, grinning, his lips a little numb, and gave Cas a big old wink before hauling him upright.

"I now pronounce you husbands," the priest-man said. "And if you'll sign here..." Dean and Cas quickly signed the paper. Officially, it said they were married and that Cas was taking the Winchester name (this was something Sam and Dean had to talk him into, tell him they wanted him to share their name like that, since a) Cas didn't have a real last name in the first place and b) he was a goddamn Winchester, if they had anything to say about it), but to Dean, it meant they were done. That maybe things would even be marginally better. He glanced at his hand, realizing that he must have completely blanked during the ring-exchanging part of the ceremony, but saw the simple, engraved gold wedding band.

Dean glanced at Sam and rolled his eyes. The giant was grinning like a fool, his eyes suspiciously shiny.

"You crying?" he hissed. "Bitch."

Sam, still grinning, wiped at his eyes. "Jerk. I love you. That was beautiful."

"Jesus, Sammy, this isn't the Hallmark channel. Get ahold of yourself. You're gonna embarrass me, Cas, and Bobby." Dean chose to actually look at Bobby and the rest of the guests, mouth curling in displeasure when he saw that Bobby was in the process of blowing his nose. Becky was sobbing, of course, but that was to be expected. What was not expected was Jo sitting there, looking at them with one hand sort of covering her open mouth, eyes shining. Jesus. It was like a goddamn soap opera.

But even with all them, those idiots who were crying or near it, Dean felt happier than he had in a long, long time.

After the lunch reception (a very tiny affair in the basement that included awesome cheeseburgers and not a drop of champagne), Sam convinced them into going to see a movie. They took a taxi back to the room, got into real clothes, and headed to a theater.

Sam didn't cry during the film, but Dean thought it was a near thing.

(_Which __wasn__'__t a __projection __at __all. __It __wasn__'__t __like __in __one __of __the __final __scenes __of __the __film, __Dean __couldn__'__t __help __but __see __one __of __the __characters __as __Cas, __and __when __that __character __was __paralyzed __by __his __best __friend __whom __Dean __kept __seeing __as __himself, __the __screen __went __just __a __little __blurry. __That __would __be __stupid. __And __even __if __that __was __what __happened, __it __would __have __something __to __do __with __the __weird __contagious __disease __that __had __Sam __growing __a __vagina, __or __maybe __the __emotional __impact __of __the __day. __But __no, __if __it __was __the __second __one, __then __it __had __to __be __the __first __because __obviously __the __feelings __had __something __to __do __with __the __spontaneous __vagina __growth. __Everyone __knew __lady __bits __meant __feelings. __It __was __scientific __fact._)

The important thing was, Dean managed to get fake butter all over Cas' shirt just because he could, but that was in retaliation for Cas drinking most of the soda, so it was all fair. The pleasure he found in ruining Cas' shirt before he even noticed what was happening was just a little bonus. And if he smiled a little when Cas pretended to be annoyed with him, well, that was just a reflex.

By the time they made it back to the room after the tourist's tour of New York, Dean was more than exhausted. His only goal was to get in bed and get some sleep before they headed out in the morning. Maybe when he was under the covers, he curled a little closer to Cas than strictly necessary and perhaps even cuddled a little bit. Not that he'd ever admit to it, but if someone managed to squeeze it out of him, he'd tell them that marriage definitely came with cuddling privileges and it wasn't like Cas didn't work an arm over his hip in the dark. But neither of them were going to tell anyone; it wasn't anyone's business anyway.

* * *

><p>The Next Morning<p>

On the Road

* * *

><p>With asphalt beneath his baby's tires, things were starting to feel a little more normal. There was ACDC coming out of the radio, his best friend in the front seat, and miles and miles of open road ahead of them. They were headed back to real life, back to where they were two months ago, before the whole mess, only better. If it could even get better.

Of course, that was when the radio station started breaking as they drove out of range.

Dean swore, smacked the radio, and twiddled the knobs to find another rock station. Too much talk radio, too much Top 40, nothing good.

That was when Cas held a CD out to him. Dean looked at it, confused.

"What's that?"

"A gift. Jo told me before we left that it was customary for couples to exchange wedding gifts, but there was never a good time. A song by this group came on my internet radio station, and I thought you might like them." Dean felt super guilty. He hadn't even considered what he might get Cas as a gift. Completely forgot about gifts in general.

"Oh. Thanks. I kinda forgot to get you anything."

"I came to that conclusion. It's fine." Ignoring the remark from the backseat (_sexual __favors __make __great __gifts!_), Dean took the CD and slid it into the CD player.

Not two minutes later, he was turning up the volume as the bass kicked in, tapping out the beat against the steering wheel. By the end of the CD, Dean was in love with the thudding bass lines, intense guitars, and pretty much everything that hit his ears. Best driving music ever. He grinned like an idiot when Cas pulled out several CD covers and put another disc into the CD slot. It looked like he'd bought the entire volume of the band's work. Dean knew there was a reason he married him.

* * *

><p>Four Days Later<p>

Dean and Cas' Apartment

* * *

><p>Dean didn't let anyone out of the Impala until his favorite song finished. They were all pretty exhausted anyway, so it wasn't like anyone wanted to move, but Sam and Gabriel did have to drive back to the bakery. Oh well. They could wait a couple minutes.<p>

When they finally did all make it out of the car, Dean was practically leaning on Cas for support. He'd done most of the driving because it was _his _baby. He'd had a few energy drinks and it had been fine, but he'd crashed already and he wanted nothing more than a bed. Or couch. Or the floor. He wasn't feeling super picky. Any horizontal surface, really, would be fine with him. But Cas guided him to his room, his bed, pulled off his shoes, got him actually _into_ bed. Because Cas was kind of the greatest person ever. It was a proven fact.

That in mind, Dean didn't exactly let go of him when he was (_God, __how __embarrassing_) all tucked in. Head pushed into the pillow in the early stages of sleep, he wrapped his arms around Cas' middle in a vice-like grip. If he weren't already starting to dream, he may have had the decency to not be such a girl, but as it was, he let out a little sigh when Cas curled up beside him.


	16. Chapter 15

**The movie I mention in this chapter is _The Brothers Bloom_, and it's pretty fucking amazing. In my Top 5 list for best movies. On a related note, there are several references to _Chasing Amy_, another amazing film, scattered throughout the fic, which I also highly reccommend. It's on the Netflix Instant Queue for those interested. :)**

* * *

><p>The Better Part of a Year Later<p>

* * *

><p>Normal came back as quick as Dean had hoped. He went to work, came home, lived. They had breakfast once a week at the bakery, and Sam and Gabriel came over every Thursday for dinner. Just like that. Normality. Dean got up every morning, spent a few hours under the hood or carriage of some stranger's car getting greasy and dirty and happy, he came home, figured out dinner with Cas, hung out, and went to bed. Easy. He still had a woman-shaped hole in him that grew a little bigger the longer he went without getting to know something other than his right hand, but it had grown to be the sort of ache that was noticeable but not vying for all of his attention.<p>

Oh, and some nights Cas didn't make it to his own bed. That too.

It wasn't anything weird, they just...conserved sleeping space. It was getting to the part of the year where Dean's nightmares came just about every other night, and it helped to have a warm body right there to keep the memories at bay. Cas was awesome at that. And a little spooning never hurt anyone.

It was easier, anyway. Maybe they'd fall asleep on the couch watching Gran Torino, and instead of both of them shambling off to their own room, they'd lean on each other, half asleep, to get to Dean's. And it was fine. It never felt weird between them. Dean didn't think of it as a change in their dynamic at all. It was totally normal, like nothing had changed. Well, except for the part where Dean didn't really get to jerk off in his bed anymore, at least not most nights, and if he did, those rare nights when Cas was in the other room, he felt a little nervous about it, like he had to be extra quiet and extra clean because it wasn't just his bed anymore. He made up for it in the shower, but he didn't like getting off in the shower as a general rule. Too slippery and he hated the feeling like his knees might give out, but it was better than not getting off at all. Worse, it made him think of all the shower sex he could be having but wasn't.

But he tried not to think about it, just lived. Woke up, got out of bed, went to work, came home, made dinner sometimes, tried not to think about why he had to tell himself that _this __was __normal_, that _this __was __what __he __wanted_.

And, Hell, things really were going great. The four of them spent Christmas together at their place, Gabriel succeeded at strategically positioning the mistletoe, but Dean didn't give a crap about kissing Cas anymore. For Valentine's day, he actually kissed Cas messily on the cheek voluntarily, gave him chocolate and an enormous bear, just because he wanted to feel _normal_. And they were fine. It was all fine. Everything was going well. Sam was in grad school, interning part-time at a pretty reputable law firm. His graduation party had been quite the affair. Dean thought he and Gabriel seemed to be doing really well, so that was good. Dean even stopped teasing Sam about it all (for the most part) because it was one of those things that just was.

His brother was happy, his (and it did sort of still amuse him to think the word) husband was happy. He was happy.

What more could he ask for?

* * *

><p>October<p>

* * *

><p>They watched a movie about brothers, con men, and a beautiful, strange woman. Dean thought the music sounded like Gabriel just a little, sort of quirky, a lot mischievous.<p>

It wasn't too late when the movie ended, but late enough to think about heading to bed. Cas got up from the couch first, wrenched his neck from side to side like he was trying to stretch out a sore bit. He was tense, had been tense. He came home a little later recently, always looking a bit stressed. Dean just wanted him to relax. The movie was supposed to do that, something funny and light, but it turned a little sad at the end there.

Dean was on his feet before he realized it, his hands on Cas' shoulders before he recognized that his brain made his body perform the action.

"Hey. You're too tense these days," he said, slipping off Cas' suit jacket. "You need to relax." He gently pressed his fingers against the muscles in Cas' back, surprised at what he found. His entire back was a collection of knots and strain. As Dean felt them, Cas made a little resigned noise, like he was used to being so tense.

Dean backed away to grab a big pillow off the couch. "Okay, this is ridiculous. Come on. Take your shirt off, lay down." It amazed Dean that Cas did what he said without hesitation; if he'd asked him to do the same, Dean would've protested and badgered him and made clear that it was weird, then still done it, after a while. Too fucking bad though, cause Dean was going to put his pride away to be a good friend.

He came back from his room with a bottle of lotion. Cas didn't have to know what he usually used it for. That was one of those things he wasn't going to think about, he decided as he adjusted Cas' pillow and squirted some lotion into his hands. He rubbed it between them, warming it up a little. It smelled like cinnamon and some sort of other spice, and the scent was pretty firmly attached to memories of wrapping a hand around himself, but he wasn't going to think about that. Not then.

Instead, he smoothed the lotion along between Cas' shoulder blades, worked it in slowly. It had been a while since he'd given anyone a proper massage. The last time had been while he was on leave, years ago, and spent a week in a girl's apartment then never saw her again. This was certainly different, especially since he'd never done it to a man before, but that was alright. He knew how to work with his hands, how to make someone feel good by touching them.

It must have taken more than half an hour to even get past Cas' shoulders, he was so tense. Slowly, though, he relaxed, his arms curled loosely by his head. Dean glanced at him every minute or so, just keeping check, maybe so Dean didn't lose himself in Cas' skin, the hard planes of his shoulders.

He dipped lower gradually, oddly calm. Smiling slightly at the sound, he heard a very soft, low sigh as his thumbs rubbed deep concentric circles lower and lower, moving slowly across the rise of his body where back became ass. Dean wasn't even thinking, just reached around beneath him and undid Cas' belt quickly so he could get to those two dimples just before the slope of his rear, rubbing the heels of his palms in because there was so much tension in his lower back, maybe from sitting hunched over, who knew. But Cas melted into his touch, let him work slowly and thoroughly as he went back up to his shoulders, upper arms. It was weirdly entrancing, the way Cas dipped his head, letting his vertebrae show in the back of his neck. Dean slid his fingers over the notches in his spine, then outwards, more towards his sides, his ribs, smoothing down over his waist.

Cas was completely, for the first time, vulnerable. It wasn't so much the position they were in; normally, Cas would have been able to knock him out from there if he tried to hurt him, at least that's what Dean knew of his inherent badassery. But this was different. He was too loose. Maybe he could kick some ass if he were tensed, ready to fly into action, but now he was basically jello. All of the strings that were normally wound tight had been released. He was just a man now, more than asleep because in sleep, even, Cas was wary, but now his guard was down, the walls pulled down. And Dean got to see it. He was doing it for Dean. That was trust right there, way more trust than anyone had ever put in Dean, even Sam. Because it wasn't just trust with his body, it was more than that. Cas had let himself grow into Dean, use him first as his link to the real world, then as the world itself. If it weren't for him, Cas would be nowhere, have nothing. And now he was giving just one more piece to Dean.

Maybe that was why Dean was enjoying it. Touching him. Feeling his skin beneath his fingers, the hard muscles beneath. There was something about his skin, though, something about how warm it looked, that made Dean feel a little weird about it all. He had a strange urge to run his tongue along the length of Cas' spine all the way up to his neck, taste him like that. It must have been a combination of the weird possessive feeling he got seeing him like this, seeing him bare himself to anything, like Dean had to protect him and do something good with that sort of trust, and then there was the fact that Dean really, _really_ needed to get laid. Like, fucking bad. Maybe his brain was making him think Cas looked kind of feminine, since he couldn't tell like this if he had breasts or not. That was it.

He still got that feeling, though, when he kneaded his fingers up Cas' neck, where it met his shoulders, up to the base of his hairline, and Cas arched up into the touch like a cat. The rumbling noise Dean felt coming from his throat was anything but feline. It was more like the first roll of a thunderstorm, soft but insistent. Dean wanted to bottle it and keep it on his dresser or something. His skin prickled with it. He couldn't stop, that was for sure. No, his fingers kept moving, swirling circles into the base of his skull.

After a while, he sort of trailed off, stopped. As much as he was trying not to, he kept thinking about the fact that he was on the living room floor, straddling his best friend-slash-husband's naked back, and something about that just wasn't really sitting right. A little too gay. Just a bit. So he pulled off of Cas, who didn't move an inch.

"Come on. Let's get you to bed."

The reply was soft and rough with sleep. "Not moving."

So, he had a few options. He could pull Cas up anyway, but he'd get all tense again. He could figure out a way to carry him to bed, but he'd probably tense up then, too. He couldn't just leave him on the floor, though. That wasn't right. He'd be a shitty friend if he did that.

Instead, Dean pulled off Cas' pants, got a blanket, and stripped down to his briefs. If Cas was going to sleep on the floor all night, then so would Dean. He was a giver like that.

Cas was all but asleep by the time he laid down beside him. Dean scooted to use the edge of his pillow, bringing their faces close. Thing was, Dean hadn't seen his face that peaceful in, like, ever. A happy sort of peaceful, almost post-coital in how complete it was. Dean smiled to himself, letting Cas' relaxed air wash over him and lull him into sleep.

* * *

><p>When Dean woke up, it was pretty fucking bright, partially from the open windows, partially from the lights he left on. There was a warm body pressed to his, but by that point, it didn't really feel too weird, just normal. Dean pried open his eyes just barely, just enough to peek through his lashes at Cas, who was still dead asleep. His mouth was just barely curved into a smile, like he was dreaming something good. Jeez. Dean was going to have to put away his pride and give him backrubs more often if this was what he was like after. And hell, if this was just from a backrub, after some good sex, he would probably just be a puddle of goo for a week. Not that it mattered. Even if Cas wanted to, which he obviously didn't, Dean wouldn't sleep with him, not unless he asked really nicely and they established that it was only for educational purposes. Then, it was still a big maybe. And there was no way he was going to find Cas a girl (the idea of finding some tail for the guy he was married to was just too weird), so it wasn't like it mattered at all what he'd be like after a good orgasm or two. That was just Dean's brain waking up. First thoughts were always sex-related. It was a fact of life.<p>

Cas' arm around him wrapped a little tighter as he shifted in a way that suggested he was trying to stay asleep. Dean felt the leg that sometimes would end up between his twist a little, pull him in a little closer like Cas was some sort of octopus. Yeah, so Cas' thigh was getting a little close to Dean Jr., but whatever. All Dean had to do to will away his halfway-there morning wood was think of the picture he was sent on his phone a while back from Crowley, of he and Bobby playing tonsil hockey. Ew. That was enough to make him go soft pretty much any time ever.

Sighing sleepily, Dean slipped an arm around Cas' shoulders, pulled him in a little, and Cas moved into the embrace immediately. His body ended up sealed tight against Dean's, legs tangling impossibly, mouth coming to rest against his neck. With each breath, he puffed warm, wet air against Dean's skin. It was a little like snuggling with a puppy, sort of like that wet nose feel, it was Cas so he was much bigger, warmer, and was a surprisingly determined snuggler, Dean had come to learn. Fierce in battle, fierce in bed. Well, as far as non-penetration-y things were concerned. Which was all Dean was concerned with, anyway.

They laid like that for a long time. Dean bobbed and weaved in and out of sleep, so he couldn't say how long it was, but it was long enough that he stopped being sure of when he was awake and when he was asleep. When the door opened, he figured it was the latter.

"I can't believe they're still in bed this late. It's not like Dean to miss out on free food," came Gabriel's voice. Of course. Even Sam didn't have a key, but then, he had Gabriel, who could will himself in anywhere.

"Think they finally fucked?" A sound like something, maybe in a paper bag, was being set on the table.

"No way. We'd know." Footsteps. Coming closer. "Wait. I stand corrected.-" More loudly, "Wakey wakey, my dearly beloved wedded Winchesters!" Dean's eyes shot open, met with a grinning Gabriel. Never a good sign.

"I stand by what I said about it being creepy when you call them that," Sam muttered.

"Shit, what time is it?" Dean asked, slipping a hand up to rub at his eyes. Cas stirred against him. He stilled for a moment, then disentangled himself from Dean quickly. In seconds, he was sitting up with his legs crossed. Dean struggled to get himself into an upright position.

"It's after noon. Although, if we've caught the tail-end of a sex marathon, I won't make fun of you for it too much."

"It's not. Sorry to disappoint."

"I figured. If we hadn't talked yesterday, I might not have given you the benefit of the doubt; I know that if you two ever decided to sleep together, it would go on for at least two days, maybe three. No way you'd be down for the count in less than twenty-four hours."

"What was that you said about food?" Dean asked tiredly.

"I didn't. Wishful thinking, but there's some bagels and scones on the table. Help yourself." Dean got up slowly, clumsy with sleep, and made his way to breakfast.

"Come on, Dean, put some clothes on," Sam said, his nose pinched. Maybe Dean was a little too used to walking around in his briefs? Nah.

"You don't live here, Sammy. You don't like it, you can get out." He dug around in the bag for a cinnamon scone, then looked over at Cas. "You want one?" He wiggled it in the air before getting a scone for himself. Gabriel was a pretty great person to have around, what with the delicious, baked benefits.

"Oh, for-!" Dean glanced over to see Gabriel facepalm. "Really? I mean, _really_? This is how you two sleep? Nearly naked in the middle of your living room? Just to be sure, you two do know what sex is, right? Because I have a feeling you've been having it and just didn't know it." Castiel took the scone from Dean's hand.

"_Gabriel_. My dick has not touched any part of Cas' body. Cas' dick has not touched any part of my body. We have not had sex. I swear. You'd be the first to know if we ever did. I promise." Dean took a bite of his scone. "Actually, that's a total lie. I would never tell you, given all the abuse you've put me through. You'd have to catch us in the act for any confirmation, and even then, I'd still deny it."

Gabriel turned to Sam. "I tried. I've tried to introduce him to the glory of butt sex, but he just won't listen." Dean gagged.

"_Jesus_. I'm _eating_. Don't talk about sex with my brother while I'm eating."

"Yeah, yeah. Start having it with mine and I won't ever do it again."

Dean grew serious, put a hand on Cas' shoulder, stared him in the eyes. "Take me. Take me now. Right on this table." He could only hold the look for a second before he burst out laughing. "You should have seen your faces!"

"You know, some psychologists say that jokes don't exist, we just use humor to cover up our real feelings," Sam said. Dean gave him a look.

"Nerd." He ate some more, pointedly ignoring Sam and Gabriel. They were both assholes, really. It was so frustrating, how they would constantly jibe him about sleeping with Cas when they knew full well that he had no interest. Not to mention Cas had no interest. That was just their life. Sexless and awesome. Right. Not like Dean felt that anything was missing.


	17. Chapter 16

Four hours later, Dean and Cas were at their diner. That evil waitress, the one with the leering eyes, Meg, was there, as always, and it set Dean on edge. He needed some stress relief of his own.

"Why don't we ever sleep with anyone?" Dean asked, more bemoaning his lack of action in the bedroom than really suggesting that either of them go out and get laid.

"Because you've more or less become chaste by force of habit and I have no interest." Cas took a bite of his cheeseburger.

"Look, just because you had one encounter with someone that was less-that-magical doesn't mean everyone is going to be like that."

Cas swallowed a mouthful of food. "Are you referring to the _multiple_ 'encounters' we had, or to something else entirely that I am unaware of?"

"To us, of course. I just meant that because it wasn't, like, electrifyingly sexy doesn't mean that it won't be with someone else. You should put yourself out there."

For just a second, Cas looked honest-to-God offended. Almost angry. It made Dean nervous.

"No, you're right. I should, shouldn't I? A few mediocre kisses shouldn't determine the entire future of my love life. I quite agree." Dean shifted, not particularly pleased. _Mediocre?_ He may have even muttered it to himself, but it didn't matter because Cas was asking Meg for a refill.

"By the way," Cas said, "I don't think I'm familiar with your restroom."

"Oh, it's right over-"

"Do you think you could...show me the way?" Dean choked when he saw Cas _wink_. He fucking _winked_.

"Of course." Meg was leering again. "Thought you'd never ask. Follow me." She turned, swinging her hips as she went.

Dean leaned forward, hissing, "_What __are __you __doing?_"

"Exactly what you said." Cas' jaw was set like it was a challenge. "Putting myself out there. Now excuse me." Cas got up, headed in the direction of the bathrooms.

It only took Dean a split second to decide that he didn't want Cas to lose his virginity to some slutty waitress in a diner. He ninja-ed between tables to the back, just in time to see Cas slam Meg against the wall, mouth going to hers confidently. Oh god, there was tongue in that kiss. That skank. She was seducing him or something. It had to be some sort of sexual assault on her part. Cas' hands slid into her hair, gripping it tight, roughly, and the bottom of Dean's stomach dropped through the floor. He could pretty much feel those fingers in his own hair, nails sliding across his scalp. She didn't fucking deserve him. In a backwards way, Cas was Dean's. Cas wasn't supposed to want or need anyone for anything, unless it was Dean. It wasn't like Dean particularly wanted to be Meg, but even if he'd never do it by choice, the only one who got to have Cas in any way was him. Dean didn't like to share his toys when he was little, and he wasn't going to start anytime soon.

Luckily, Cas pulled off of her before Dean had to do it himself. Dean was about to tell him to _never __fucking __do __anything __like __that __again_, but what came out instead was: "Not that I'm the most discerning individual, but don't you think it might be a little _too_ classy to be getting all up in that where children might see? But hey, who am I to judge? I'll see you at home. You know, whenever you're done. You're paying, by the way."

Dean got the fuck out of there before he committed an act of violence against someone. Who, he didn't know, but someone was going to get hurt if he stayed any longer.

* * *

><p>Dean didn't see Cas again until much later, and then he didn't actually <em>see<em> him at first. He heard the door to his bedroom open, and Cas walked in, his footsteps near-silent, as usual, then started undressing.

"If you haven't showered, you _are __not _getting into this bed. I don't want super skank all over my sheets. _Capisce_?"

Cas slid into bed without saying anything, and Dean hoped that he didn't have nasty waitress-slut all over him. They didn't quite touch, but it was a near thing.

It came almost a minute later. "I didn't sleep with her." Then, later, "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for," Dean said, and it was only a little bit of a lie. Well, a lot. "Where've you been all night?"

"Walking. I didn't know if I was supposed to come home." He could just tell by his voice that Cas was ashamed. It made Dean feel the tiniest bit guilty.

"You could've called. I would've given you a ride."

"Would you have answered the phone?"

"I don't know." Probably not, was the truth. He'd probably have thrown his phone across the room.

Cas turned over onto his side, facing Dean in the dark. He breathed like he was going to say something for a while, then flipped over onto his other side, like a question. Dean gave his answer by shifting closer and wrapping an arm around Cas' middle.

"So. She a better kisser than me?" he asked the darkness around Cas' ear.

"No. Did you think she would be?"

"I don't know. I couldn't believe you'd do it in the first place. Just...don't ever do it again."

"What are you saying?"

"Just don't pick women like that. They're not good for you. Better yet, don't pick anyone. I'll pick for you."

"Yeah? And who are you going to pick, Dean? Tell me, who would you approve of?" He sounded a little angry, almost, and his body was tense.

"I don't know-"

"You don't get to have it both ways. You don't get to make decisions like that for me, unless this is your stupid, backwards way of telling me that you'd pick yourself-"

"I don't want you to be with anyone. It's not like you want to, either, it's not like it matters."

"Why? Why don't you want me to be with anyone?"

Dean sighed. "Because you're not theirs, alright? It's like...it's like with kids. Like, they take a toy out of the box and maybe they don't play with it right, they just sit it somewhere. Doesn't matter how much they do or don't play with it, you take it away to give to another kid, and it's not alright. They won't let you. It's not that other kid's, it's theirs, and they just want it to sit there some more and not play with it. They like it that way."

"I don't think this relationship is particularly healthy." Dean pulled him tighter, so he was flush against his chest.

"So what? Fuck healthy. It's not that bad, anyway."

Cas sighed bodily. "Most children have other toys, Dean. The toy only gets one child to play with. It isn't fair to the toys at all."

Dean had nothing to say to that because it was true. He didn't want Cas to sleep with anyone, but it wasn't like Dean had a problem with sleeping with anyone himself. Besides, Cas was pretty much asexual. Sure, Dean half-heartedly tried to convince him otherwise, but he knew Cas didn't do chicks. There was nothing wrong with the system.

Sleepily, Dean curled around Cas a little more, held him in place with a splayed hand on his chest. He didn't think of anything to say that didn't sound wrong, so he just thought it loud: _Cas, __it__'__s __because __I __love __you, __you __know. __You__'__re __the __family __I __actually __got __to __pick, __so __I __can__'__t __let __you __pick __anyone __else. __I __picked __you, __so __you __have __to __pick __me __too._

* * *

><p>Two Weeks Later<p>

* * *

><p>Cas was still stressed. He grew more stressed every day. Dean would find him sitting alone sometimes, with this look, this weird look that would disappear when he saw Dean. It was very strange. He stopped talking as much, and every now and then, Dean would say something and Cas'd just snap at him. Cas never snapped. It was getting to be fucking surreal. Sure, after he'd do it, he'd apologize, and at night, when Dean was laying very still, certain that he was asleep, he'd feel arms tighten around him, a forehead try to bury itself into the crook of his neck.<p>

Something was clearly wrong with Cas, and Dean wanted to know what it was. When he did, he was going to punch it in the face. Whatever it was.

But when Dean cornered and asked why he'd been so off, all he got was a "It's nothing" and Cas edged away a little. It was fucked up. What, was he not good enough for Cas to tell him what was the matter? Who the fuck did Cas know better? Who knew Cas better? No one. It pissed Dean off.

* * *

><p>One Month Later<p>

* * *

><p>"I'm leaving."<p>

"You don't have work again until tomorrow," Dean said, confused.

"No, I'm leaving _you_, Dean. I'm leaving you."

And then Dean wasn't Dean anymore. Dean was replaced by something hollow and empty.

Well, almost. The part that was still Dean pinched himself. Checked clocks twice, looked for light switches. Tried to think himself into flight. Then just settled for thinking _Wake __up __wake __up __wake __up_ at himself.

"I have to do this, Dean."

"Bullshit." It's Dean speaking, but it's the angry side of Dean, the side that punched a hole in the drywall that one time in high school, the side that he hid away when he was in Iraq, pushed down low until Cas or Sam was threatened. "What the fuck are you talking about? Cause it isn't funny."

"I've packed. I'm leaving. It isn't up for discussion, but I thought I'd tell you in person."

Dean grabbed him by the shirt. "What the fuck? _No_. Why? Why the actual fuck would you pull something like this?" Something behind Cas' eyes clicked, like something was snapping into place. Dean hated that something. He didn't know what it was, but it was dark and terrible and he hated it. It meant the reality of the situation was really slamming into him.

"You. Because of you. I can't take it anymore. You're using me because you're lazy and you don't want to find someone who might love you, so you use me. You won't let me have normal relationships. You don't want me to be happy. I'm done. I'm _out_."

"No. No, you can't do this."

"I can and I am. I'm not some _toy_, Dean. You can't just throw me away when you're bored. I have my own life, and at least where I used to be, I had respect. Honestly, I was better off under Raphael."

Dean slammed him bodily against the wall, pissed that it meant that Cas was allowing him to. He held him there, fists white-knuckled in Cas' shirt that was really an old t-shirt of Dean's. His face leveled in front of Cas', their noses nearly touching. Then Dean saw something hard in Cas' eyes and broke against it.

"Don't leave me, alright? Look, I can make it right, just don't leave me, not for them. Those bastards don't deserve you." His fingers clenched and unclenched in the jersey cotton between them. Never before had he felt truly helpless, not until then. He just wanted Cas to stay. That was all. "Please. I'll do anything, okay? I can't-I just can't let you go." He was breathing Cas' air, they were so close, and if it would have made him stay, Dean would've kissed him, would've kissed him for hours. Days.

Cas flipped them around, shoved Dean against the wall hard enough to bruise.

"I can't _stand_ you. I don't _like _you. You're just an immature boy who forgot to grow up. You're so desperate for someone to cling to, you'll take anyone. Sam. Me. Bobby. You need someone to define who you are, and I can't be that anymore. You've made it so that you're my only option to be happy, but I'm a distant second for you. Sam will always come first, no matter how many times he's let you down, and you've never even witnessed all that I've done for you. I just can't do it anymore."

"That's not true! Sam _needs_ me. You don't need me. It's different, I swear. Just stay."

"Dean Winchester, I _loathe_ you. The last thing I want is to stay here another second. I'm leaving. I'm gone. Accept it." Cas pushed himself away gently, like he was nothing, got his bags out of his room while Dean just stared, dumbfounded. It couldn't really be happening.

Cas took one last look at him, a withering, soulless look. "This is pathetic."

"Come on, Cas, we can fix this." Dean was not going to cry, goddammit. He was not going to fucking...nope, that was definitely a tear he felt slip down his face.

"It's not broken; it's just gone. There's nothing to fix. Go indulge in some self-pity; I know you're longing to."

And then Cas was gone, leaving Dean with a mess of bleeding cuts his words left behind. What was he supposed to do? Without Cas, there wasn't anything. Nothing. The one person who'd stood by him all this time just bailed.

Dean went into Cas' room. The only thing he'd left was the bed, the sheets still on it. Dean wanted to lay down on it, smell the pillow, so he started punching the wall, both hands, just throwing his fists at it until it gave, until he wore himself out. Then he fell onto the bed, squeezed the pillow against his chest and let his knuckles bleed.

After half an hour, he went to grab to bottle of good whiskey, then went back and drank, sitting against the headboard. He drank and drank and drank until he had to put down the bottle because he might drop it, and then he curled up again and in one moment of utter failure, wept until he fell asleep.


	18. Chapter 17

In the morning, Dean went to work, late from sleeping in, and tried to make it through the day. His hangover was something fierce, even with a handful of aspirin, but he pushed himself through it and tried not to relish the pain too much. Because he deserved every fucking second of it. He screwed it all up, now he got to reap the rewards. He pushed Cas away, it was his fault because he was a shit head and possessive and needy and stupid and didn't know how to recognize a good thing when he saw it and he deserved to fucking drown in it.

If only he could.

* * *

><p>That Saturday, he showed up at the bakery alone, ordered for himself. Jo looked at him weird as he paid, then finally asked, "Is Cas sick or something? He okay?"<p>

"I have no idea," Dean answered hollowly. "Got any Bailey's for the coffee?"

"No, I..." She never finished her sentence.

Dean sat down with his scone. He ate it slowly, looking at the empty chair where Cas would've sat if he'd been there. It was sort of a game with him. See how many things he could find that would remind him of Cas, and if his eyes started to burn, he'd bite his tongue or dig his nails into his thigh or the meat of his palm. He was surprised he still had all of his tongue by that point, since he made it bleed the other day, and it felt like a lot. But that was the thing; he deserved the physical pain, the emotional pain, all of it, because he brought it all upon himself. Might as well wallow in it.

"Okay, what did you do to freak Jo out? Where's Cas?" Gabriel sat in Cas' seat.

"I have no idea."

Gabriel looked at him hard for a moment, his expression oddly serious. "What do you mean you don't know? Is Cas sick?"

"Funny, Jo asked the same thing." Dean took a sip of coffee. "He's not sick, just gone." Gabriel was staring at his knuckles.

"Jesus, kid, what happened to your hands? Pick a fight with a wall?"

"Something like that." Gabriel took his hand, started looking at it, inspecting his scabbing, bruised knuckles gingerly.

"Did you get these looked at, Dean?"

"Nah. It's only the left hand that's fractured, and it only hurts if I move my hand a certain way." He didn't mention that that certain way was bending his middle finger at all, which he had to do on a regular basis. He liked that it hurt.

"Okay, back track - what did you mean about Cas being gone?"

"He left. Thursday. Packed and left."

"What the _fuck_?" The entire store went silent, all heads turned to Gabriel. He offered an apology, then leaned in to Dean. "I repeat, _What the fuck_?" he hissed.

"He was tired of me, I don't know. I got the feeling he'd been thinking about it for a long time. He'd been pretty stressed, you know, it was bad. He never told me why. I guess that was it. He wanted to leave me but didn't know how, and then he just did it." He didn't want to say anything about the fact that Cas might have gone back into the service because of him, might have done something he hated because it was better than being with Dean. He wouldn't have been able to put it in words if he tried.

"Alright, come on. Up." Gabriel grabbed him by the arm and dragged him behind the counter to the stairs, up to Gabriel's apartment. Sam was sitting on the couch with his laptop, wearing just a pair of boxers. Dean didn't bother to comment, just sat when Gabriel made him sit. As he disappeared in the kitchen, Sam looked at him, a little surprised.

"Hey, sorry, I'll go put a shirt on, just working on some research for a case." He shut the laptop with a click and headed to the bedroom. "Where's Cas?" he called from the other room.

Dean grimaced.

"Not the time, Sammy!" Gabriel called from the kitchen. He came back in a second later with a glass and a bottle of cake-flavored vodka. "Sorry, I was out of what I normally drink. And shot glasses."

"I don't want to drink," Dean said with a sigh. Drinking numbed the pain too much. He learned that the first night.

"In that case, I've got you covered. My Netflix is on the Wii. Pick something out. I'll be right back." He took the vodka and glass back into the kitchen as Sam came out.

"Hey, what's going on? Are you okay?"

"I'm perfectly fine, Sam. Your boyfriend's making quite the fuss."

Gabriel came out with a quart of some sort of enormously chocolaty ice cream with a spoon stuck in it. "If you don't pick a movie for yourself, I'll put on _Brokeback Mountain_. Here. Eat your feelings." He handed over the ice cream rather forcefully.

"Guys, what's going on? Is Cas alright?"

"I have no fucking idea," Dean said. He put down the ice cream on the coffee table. Sam narrowed his eyes at both of them.

"Is that an answer to my first or second question?"

"Second," Dean answered. "First is: Gabriel's throwing a hissy fit because Cas left."

"Like, _left _left? As in, _gone_?" Sam made a sort of open-mouthed bitchface.

"Gently," Gabriel said softly, putting a hand on Sam's arm.

Dean sighed. "Yes. He left me Thursday. Walked out. He's gone, he's not coming back, can we just get over it?" It was thin ice he was walking on - trying to get them to say what he needed to hurt himself a little more without making him have a breakdown in front of them. They weren't going to see him cry about it, that much was certain.

"That...that doesn't sound like him." Sam worried his lip between his teeth.

"He'd been a mess for weeks. I should've seen it coming."

"How are you?" It was a painfully real question, one that Dean didn't have a good answer for.

"His hand's broken," Gabriel answered. "I figured we'd let him curl up in a bottle for a little while, then take him to the emergency room later today."

"I don't want to drink, I don't want to eat. I'm fine."

"People who are fine _eat_, Dean," Sam said softly.

"Look, I'm not going all _The Notebook_ on you guys with all that 'I can't eat, I can't drink!' bullshit, I just mean that I've moved into the quiet reflection stage of this whole thing."

"Dean. It _hurts_ to lose someone you love. I know it does, I've been there."

"This is nothing like Jess, Sam, okay? First off, Cas isn't dead, second, I was never stupidly in love with him. That was never our story." The thing is, Dean wished he was in love with Cas so that it might hurt more, he wanted that extra pain for pushing him away and ruining them, but he couldn't just have it. It was too late to love him.

"Fuck you, I'm putting on _Brokeback Mountain_. You can deal with your repressed feelings while watching." Sam got up, a bit angry at the reference to Jess, apparently.

Dean tuned out the movie, the ride to the hospital, the cast they put on him, the ride home, everything until he curled up in Cas' bed, careful to avoid the spots of dried blood.

* * *

><p>A Month Later<p>

* * *

><p>After that, Dean started tuning out everything. He just took a giant step back, pushed all of his feelings away. It was so easy. Just the simplest thing. There wasn't a single thing that couldn't be pushed down with enough self-loathing and Jack Daniels. He stopped trying to hurt himself, but only because he wanted to forget all of it. It wasn't like Cas was his soulmate or even his lover, not even his only friend. There was so much more than Cas out there. He stopped sleeping in Cas' bed, even. There was no way he was going to find another roommate any time soon, but, hey, baby steps.<p>

The hardest thing was that his ring was hidden away beneath his cast. He couldn't take it off until the cast came off, not for another couple of weeks. If he could, he'd pull it off, maybe put it on a cord around his neck or something. He wasn't totally ready to get rid of it, not when the writing on it would make his chest hurt. It was Becky's idea, and Dean didn't remember being told about it until he saw the rings, but around the outside read _I'd do anything for you_ and the inside read _I gave everything for you_. Becky had said something about significance and _blah blah blah_ and Dean had made a joke about it being pretty gay, but he liked them. He liked that there was some truth in them. History.

His cast was due to come off in mere days when _she_ came into the shop. Rufus told him to ditch the Mustang he'd been working on all week to go fix her SUV, and maybe he was a little pissed off at first, but he saw her and threw all those complaints away. He'd do a lot for a beautiful woman, that much was certain.

"Hi," she said sweetly, extending a hand. He wiped his own on his jeans, surprised when she still shook it.

"Afternoon. Name's Dean. I'll be helping you with your behemoth."

"Lisa, and thank you.

"No problem. So. What seems to be the matter?"

"Won't start. I charged it all morning, but it just makes this sad croaking noise." He lifted the hood, inspecting the battery first, then the rest of the machinery. "I know you guys probably hate people who are pushy, but do you know how long this might take? It's just today was my day in the carpool and I had to put it off on one of the other moms this morning, but I've still got to pick up all the kids this afternoon." Dean mentally tucked the mom thing away, hoping it didn't mean she was married. He looked over the engine carefully, then grinned.

"Here we go. This is a quick fix, don't worry. Just need a part. This thing right here-" he pointed, pleased she leaned over to look "-got worn out. Without it, the engine can't move power to the axles, but it shouldn't be more than two hundred for a new one. I can put it in right now, and you'll be done in twenty minutes, maybe."

"Really? Wow, that's perfect. You just saved my life. I swear, suburban housewives are scary. If you don't pick up their kids, join their book clubs or go to their potluck dinners, they can get downright mean." He laughed good-naturedly and headed to the back room to find the right part.

She stayed near him while he worked, telling him about her son, Ben, who was in seventh grade and, from what she said, just about the best kid ever. Good grades, didn't get into trouble, played drums in the school band, was in boy scouts. Also, good to note, she was not married or, from what he could tell, seeing anyone. She was nice though, not too catty like some of the upper-middle class women who came in with their expensive, big cars that they didn't know how to run. Very down-to-earth. Dean liked that in a woman. Also, she taught yoga, so, huge plus there. Bendy was good. It'd been a while since he'd done bendy.

When he was done, he closed the hood and wiped his hand off on his jeans again. "Well, looks like that's it. Rufus'll ring you up for the parts and all, and you're ready to go."

"Thank you so much. Not just the work, but listening to me babble. I know other people's kids are boring. _Trust me_, I know. I didn't mean to talk so much, it's just...Wow. You really don't remember me, do you?" Dean was confused. He looked at her closely, trying to place her face. "Well, you _were_ pretty astoundingly drunk and, jeez, it was years ago, but wow."

Dean really tried.

"Okay, Miami, like, thirteen years ago. You were on leave, I was on spring break, we both got completely wasted..." _Oh_. Dean remembered.

"_Lisa_? That Lisa? Whoa. _Did not_ recognize you. It's been a _really_ long time."

"Hey, if I'd had as much tequila as you did, I wouldn't remember me either." She grinned. "Look, I'm going to be forward here. Wanna have dinner sometime?"

Dean smirked, laying on the slightly-rusty Dean Winchester charm. "Yeah, I'd love to. As long as that works with your schedule. I don't know how all that works with having a kid."

"Oh, Ben'll be fine. I'm pretty sure he has a huge crush on his babysitter, which is, I'm sure, the only reason he agrees to having a babysitter at his age." Dean laughed. "So. Friday night, maybe? Around seven? I know a place with great pad thai."

By the time she drove off the lot, Dean was feeling somewhat alright for the first time in a long time.

* * *

><p>Dean grabbed breakfast at the bakery on friday. He really wanted to rub in Sam and Gabriel's faces that he had a date. He hadn't had one in...well, since high school, really. So, a long fucking time. Sure, meeting a chick at a bar and sleeping with her was fun, but there was something kind of satisfying about the idea of a real date. It tasted of normalcy, and that was the one thing he wanted more than anything at the moment. There was a Cas-sized domestic bliss hole in his life, and the closer he could get to filling it, the better. The great thing about Lisa was that she was the perfect combination of like-Cas and not-like-Cas; she filled the void, but her role was different and her personality was different and her life was different, and that was completely perfect.<p>

"I have a date," he told Jo when she handed him his kolaches.

She took a step backwards. "Are you sure? Isn't it a little soon? Does he know about Cas?"

"Not gay, Jo. The date's a she. And it's a first date. I'd be a jackass if I mentioned him before we sleep together, let alone before the first date."

"Yeah, but are you sure this is a good idea?" Jo bit her lip, frowning.

"I wouldn't be doing it if it wasn't." He paid. "Sam and Gabriel back there?"

"Yeah. I think Gabriel's testing out some new scones on him. Go ahead."

Gabriel pressed a scone and plate to him as soon as he was in sight. Dean tried it complacently. Chocolate hazelnut, with good dark chocolate chips in it. Pretty freaking delicious. No surprises there.

"I have a date tonight," he said when he finished. Sam and Gabriel stared at him in shock. "Her name's Lisa. She's got a kid. She's sweet."

"Wait, a _date _date?" Sam asked. His mouth was still open in surprise.

"Yup. She's a real looker. We're going out tonight."

Gabriel set down his tray. "You sure you know what you're getting yourself into, Dean-o?"

"Look, I know I haven't dated in, well, _years_, but it feels right. I like her."

"So, are you just not going to acknowledge anything you had with Cas?"

Dean clenched his jaw. "What are you talking about?"

"Romantic or not, you and Cas were _involved_. For years. You had an emotional relationship with him, a deep one, and I refuse to believe you're over it already. This is a rebound, Dean."

"Yeah?" He shrugged. "So what if it is? At least it's not a booty call. It's a date. That's normal. Normal people go on dates. There's nothing wrong with it."

"Dean-"

"Thanks for the scone. I should get going. Gotta get this cast off." He spun and left before they could say anymore. He didn't need them to tell him he was on the rebound. He knew it already, but that didn't mean he had to think about it.

* * *

><p><strong>So, yeah, this where Lisa becomes a character for a little while. Nothing explicit or anything, nothing too far outside of her involvement with Dean in the show. Obviously, since this fic is DeanCas, Cas and Dean will end up being reunited in some form, and it's only a few chapters away, if that's any consolation. **


	19. Chapter 18

A Bit Over One Year and a Half Later

* * *

><p>It was a bad night. There hadn't been any of those in a few weeks, but this one was pretty bad. He was back in that room from not long enough ago, taking another man apart, and then Cas walked in, and the part where he usually was saved didn't happen. Cas just watched him, told him he was made for torture.<p>

Dean had woken up with a bitten-off scream. Enough to wake Lisa, who had asked him if she could do anything, but he'd let her go back to sleep and gone downstairs for a drink.

The scotch burned on the way down, a good burn. Dean could handle the nightmares, he could, but when Cas appeared, that was just shot to hell. He had been doing so well, too. He hadn't gotten drunk in two weeks. It was a little difficult to do with Lisa around anyway, but she knew that Dean wasn't violent or anything, just somber, and he slept on the couch if he got drunk anyway. It was just that he needed it sometimes. Every now and then. Something would happen, something small, like they'd rent a movie that he and Cas saw in the theaters, or Ben would be playing music in his room and a song he and Cas liked would come on. Just enough to make him remember that there had been someone else who'd left a lasting impression on him, and he'd drink until he forgot, or, more rarely, he'd try to forget in Lisa's body, slowly, drawing it out, making sure she'd come at least twice, and that helped sometimes.

Lisa didn't really know about Cas, that was the thing. Third date, he'd told her that Cas was his wife, and she'd killed herself a while before they met. It was easier that way. So much less complicated. It meant Lisa didn't ask questions about Cas, which was nice. It had only been awkward the first time they slept together, when he got to that tricky moment where he took off his shirt and she saw his shoulder for the first time. That part always sucked because even though he'd already told her he'd been a soldier, there wasn't usually a quick way to say that the soldier who'd pulled him out of hell had put his hand in the powdery lye Dean was using on the man in front of him, how Cas' gloves had been strong and dry enough that he hadn't even noticed, how Dean had screamed when that hand gripped his sweaty shoulder and burned into it, the mad dash for the vinegar kept on-hand just in case, how it had never gone away so he still bore the mark of Cas' hand. He gave her the short, fabricated version, something that wouldn't convince her that he had serious PTSD or something. It was still a little bit of a dance when they made love; he kept his shoulder out of the way because women seemed to like trying to fit their hands over it, even though it wasn't theirs, not even close.

Sometimes when he'd drink, he'd think about what it would have been like if he'd told Cas he loved him. Lie or not, if when they'd gotten married, he'd said he'd loved him all along, made Cas fall in love with him. Even if Dean didn't want it, maybe if they'd slept together, played at being in love, then maybe Cas wouldn't have left. Dean wished he'd done it. Because really, what was the price? Some kisses, some sex he wasn't really into? That was nothing. Absolutely nothing. And maybe he could have done it, too, right around the time they married, when Cas was having first-kisses-that-should-have-been, maybe he could have fooled Cas into falling in love with him. Cas probably would have stayed if he thought Dean loved him, would've felt wanted and needed enough to stay.

It was fucked up, he thought, that he was still wishing he could go back and put it back together when he was living in someone else's house and had, to all outside observers, moved on.

But he hadn't. Not in the slightest. Cas' bed was still just the same as he left it, only with those little spots of blood and the fact that Dean had pressed his face into that pillow so much it had all but stopped smelling like Cas. Lisa had never been to the apartment, and Dean was glad of that. It wasn't her place. It belonged to him and Cas, always would. He wasn't going to get rid of it, even, when he and Lisa were married. He'd still go back sometimes and sit on that bed, play music that made his chest ache it made him think of Cas so much. He still had the ring hanging around his neck, and that was the glory of the story he told Lisa; she'd never tell him to take it off. A widower could get away with so much more than just some asshole who hadn't appreciated a good thing when he had it.

As Dean sipped his drink, he considered the idea that part of the reason he'd woken up with a nightmare was that they were leaving in the morning. For Kansas. Dean had told Lisa that he'd like to get married in his hometown, but really, he just thought it would be less likely that a state in the Midwest would acknowledge that he was technically married to a man. Even if by then, states technically had to recognize any marriage license from any other state, Kansas never changed, and he thought if he didn't volunteer it, it would be fine. It wasn't like he could get the divorce papers signed, since he had no fucking idea where Cas was, and truth be told, he wasn't sure he'd be able to do it if he did know.

But it would all be fine soon. He'd already assimilated into the suburban lifestyle, hanging out with the other dads, hanging out with Ben, who he actually really liked. And that was the thing - he did _love_ Lisa and Ben. Cas was just there first. And maybe in a few years, he'd move on a little more and he'd sell the apartment and wouldn't dream of Cas anymore. That was his hope.

Dean put the bottle and his glass away, then stretched out on the couch. In the morning, things would be different. He'd really be starting a new life. That was all he wanted. All he needed.

* * *

><p>Three Days Later<p>

* * *

><p>Upon arriving in Lawrence, Dean was a little shocked to see just how wrong his first wedding was. There were so many little traditions they hadn't done, and jeez, did Lisa have a big family. The rehearsal dinner was an ordeal in itself, and that wasn't even taking into consideration the little things, like the borrowing things and the blue things (Dean didn't get any of that - chick stuff). It couldn't have been more awkward, either. He hadn't met most of Lisa's family, and she'd only met Sam and Gabriel, Bobby never, not to mention Ellen (who, thanks to some little fling with Bobby being rekindled, was pretty much real family by that point) or Jo or Missouri.<p>

See, Sam and Gabriel were pretty judgmental about the whole thing. They'd never said anything bad about Lisa because they liked her or even mentioned Cas when he announced that he and Lisa were engaged, but they gave these looks that made it perfectly clear that they thought he wasn't really doing right by Cas or anyone, even if he was sort of moving on. Bobby, however, when he'd called him up and told him he was marrying her, had a lot to say about "that nice kid you never fooled around with right", but Dean had told him to shut his mouth about the whole thing and hung up, and Bobby didn't say much after that.

Really, Dean supposed, it could have been worse. For one, Lisa's family could have been a bunch of homophobes and made it weird for Sam and Gabriel, but they weren't and they didn't. They even agreed to all fly in to Lawrence, Kansas for the nuptials, which was certainly something. And after he told Lisa that he would be totally fine with anything she wanted for the wedding as long as it was in Lawrence, he didn't have to deal with that nightmare.

It was kind of pathetic that he didn't even bother with a bachelor party, but Gabriel didn't seem particularly enthusiastic about planning one, so it was totally fine. Besides, there was nothing in Lawrence but tiny houses and fields.

The greatest thing was that Dean didn't really know anyone in Lawrence, not besides Missouri and Bobby, since they moved around so much when he and Sam were kids and when they came back, it wasn't like Dean really socialized much. There was no one who knew him, at least not at the wedding, and it was beautiful. Total anonymity, and no one besides his own meager side of the wedding party that knew he'd ever married a man at all. It made it easy, so very easy.

* * *

><p>Dean adjusted his bow tie, the white rose tucked into his lapel. He tried not to think of when he tied Cas' bow tie, he did. Still not thinking, he brushed his hair to the side a little more, making it church-nice. There was a knock on the door.<p>

"Come in." He examined himself in the mirror again as Sam came in.

"Hey. It's time. You ready?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am."

"Sure? It'll be easier to back out now than it will be later."

Dean gave him a hard look. "I'm _sure_, Sammy. I'm getting married. I _want_ to get married. Lisa's amazing, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her." He pretended he wasn't saying it like a mantra, like if he said and thought it enough, it would be more true. It _was _true, though, so it was okay. He knew she was what he wanted, and that's all there was to it. "Come on. Let's go. Don't wanna be late."

* * *

><p>Seeing Lisa walking down the aisle made it worth it. God, she was beautiful. Her dress was pretty, Dean had to admit, but her face outshone it by far. Her smile was wide, just beaming, like she'd never been happier. It made Dean grin in response, just seeing her so happy. Yeah, he was going to marry her, and it was going to be awesome. He was going to have a gorgeous, loving wife, and awesome son, and a pretty near perfect life. That was all he ever wanted.<p>

When she was standing in front of him, Dean couldn't take his eyes off of her. She was just _radiating_. Perfect. Glowing, pretty much.

"And if anyone has any objections, I ask them to speak now or forever hold their peace," the priest said in a very routine manner. Dean grinned, glancing at Sam and Gabriel. Just as the priest opened his mouth again, a voice called from the back of the church.

"I have an objection." Dean froze, turned very, very slowly towards the direction the voice came from. A figure stepped from the shadows and began walking down the aisle. "The groom is already married." Dean's stomach and heart were making friends on the floor because there, in his stupid trenchcoat, was Cas, coming towards him. _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_.

* * *

><p><strong>I ended up taking out an angst chapter because, really, no one wants to see Dean sad and angry for that long. But anyway, it's Christmas (and I say that as a fill-in holiday; read Hanukah, Kwanzaa, or whatever you celebratedon't celebrate) so have a Cas! Lots of love!**


	20. Chapter 19

The room was dead silent until the priest spoke. "Everyone, please remain seated, we're going to discuss the claim in the sacristy." There was a hand gripping his arm tight. Sam's.

"Go, Dean. Go. Talk to him," he whispered before the priest pulled Dean, his future wife, and his current husband away behind the altar and into a separate room.

The priest got right down to business. "Alright, you claim he's already married? To whom? Do you have a marriage certificate?" Dean was shaking, trembling, barely able to breathe. There was no way this was happening. There was no way this was Cas, standing just a few feet from him. It had to be some sort of nightmare. Weirdly enough, the one person Dean expected to be having a major freak-out was Lisa, and she was just fine. Probably thought it was some little legal mishap with his "dead wife". Fuck.

"This can all be cleared up," she said. "Sir, are you a lawyer representing his wife's estate?" Dean made a choked noise. Good thing Cas had, as of yet, not made eye contact with him, or he'd probably curl up into a ball on the floor. Or punch him in the face. Probably the latter.

Cas pulled a folder out of his jacket, staring intently at the priest, as he had been since he'd stepped on the red carpet Lisa had walked before him. "Father, I have the marriage certificate here. This man is my husband." Dean fell apart. How he remained standing was a complete mystery, since he was clearly in pieces.

"I don't understand," Lisa said slowly, looking from Dean to Cas and Cas to Dean. "I think you might be confused. Dean isn't-"

"Are you Castiel Winchester, née Novak?" the priest asked, folder open. Dean watched in horror as the pieces fell together in Lisa's mind. She looked at Cas first with confusion, then understanding, shock, and took a step backwards. Jesus, his world was falling apart all over again in slow motion.

"_Castiel_? _Cas_? You're Cas?" Her hand flew over her eyes and she took a few deep breaths. "I guess this makes me a modern-day Jane Eyre. It's not a crazy wife you're hiding in the attic, it's a husband. Jesus." The priest shot her a look for a split second that turned sympathetic almost immediately. Cas was still staring at the priest, still hadn't looked at Dean. It was starting to make Dean angry.

"This isn't right. _It didn't count_." It must have been his imagination that Cas seemed to crumple a little at that. "Look, Father, you don't have to count it. You can ignore it. No one would blame you if you did." That was when Cas finally looked at him, this weird, sorrowful look.

"I would," Lisa said, shocking everyone, possibly including herself, going by her expression. "Dean, why didn't you tell me? Pardon my french, but this is a _big fucking deal_. Still, we could have worked it out if you'd just-"

Dean stiffened. "_Could have_? No, we _are_ working this out. It'll be easy. Cas'll just sign the divorce papers and-"

"I won't," Cas ground out. "I won't sign them, and I know for a fact that you have not yet contacted a lawyer. This will be at least a six-week delay, if you are, theoretically, able to convince me to sign them at all." Dean turned a glare on him, suddenly more angry than he could remember being.

"_Fucking asshole._"He grabbed Cas by the coat and shoved him. The priest cut in, getting between them.

"Gentlemen, I won't have violence in my church. You can discus this here peacefully or not at all." He looked solely at Dean. "Is he correct? Have you not filed for divorce?"

"He left me, didn't tell me where he was. There was no way I could get divorce papers to him. He wasn't coming back, what else was I supposed to do? I just ignored it. It's not like it was a real marriage anyway. We were _roommates_. It was just for our tax returns, _come on!_" The priest took a step back, and Dean found that he couldn't look at either Lisa or Cas.

"You signed a legal document, meaning that you were observed saying your vows with the intent to honor them. I cannot ignore it. Regardless of my personal feelings, you married with intent once, and I am not able, in good conscience, to carry on with this ceremony." Dean withdrew, sullen. It wasn't fair. Cas didn't get to leave him, then come back just when he was going to be happy again.

He looked up, finding Lisa wiping a tear away and straightening her shoulders, like she was trying to steel herself against it. The fact that she was still standing there spoke volumes for the kind of woman she was. Strong. She was too good for him, though, to be honest, that wasn't saying much.

Dean moved closer to her, cupped her shoulder. "Lise, listen to me. We're going to put this mess behind us, okay? We'll sort it out." She looked up at him and her eyes were hard. She wasn't taking that, not at all.

"You lied to me, Dean. Big time. I'm going to need some time to figure this all out and figure out where this puts us. I love you, Dean, but you're going to have to give me some time to decide if I still should."

"Lisa, I'm so sorry, I never thought-"

"Don't. Don't try to explain. Not yet. I'm not ready for that yet. Okay?" She sighed, collapsing a little. "Someone's going to have to go out there and tell everyone it's off. I need to talk to Ben. Jeez. This is a lot to process."

"If there's anything-"

"No. I need space. Starting now." She turned to Cas. "You and I are going to have a discussion. I'd like to do so in private, if you'll allow me that."

"It's only fair," Cas said quietly.

The priest stirred. "I'll allow you to stay here and discuss. Mr. Winchester, come with me. I'll do the honors." Dean followed him out of the room and towards the chopping block.

* * *

><p>Lisa took a few deep breaths to center herself.<p>

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

"So you and Dean are married." She looked at the man. He didn't look too intimidating, maybe a little shorter than Dean, kind of ruffled-looking, almost harmless if it wasn't for the intensity in his eyes. They looked like she felt. "Is he gay?" she asked curiously.

"No."

"He just marries and sleeps with men. Great. I can work with that." She wasn't sure if it was sarcasm or not. She wasn't sure at all, really, what she was thinking.

"We've never known each other that way. In the Biblical sense. It was...complicated." She's surprised at that. Dean always was particularly enthusiastic about sex. If he was married to someone and never slept with them, that didn't really make sense. It wasn't like this..._Cas_ was bad-looking. Not at all. That, and piecing together what she'd seen of how Dean had felt about the other Cas, the pill-popping wife, the lie, it didn't fit.

"How did you not sleep with him? If you were together-"

"We had a strictly platonic relationship. He was being truthful when he claimed that we married for financial reasons."

It didn't fit at all. "So, what, you two meet, move in together, then decide to get married? How does that work?"

"Dean and I have known each other for six years. We met in Iraq. I was a soldier, as was he. When we left the service, I had nowhere to go, and he invited me to come here to live with himself and Sam. It wasn't until much later, when Sam was going to Stanford, that we moved to San Francisco and moved in together. I think he became convinced that he would never find love, so he settled for me." Watching him speak, Lisa knew there were volumes that weren't being told, hiding beneath his words. There was much he wasn't saying. Lisa thought she could guess some of it.

"Did you love him?"

He looked at her sharply. "Of course. I knew him better than anyone. It was impossible not to."

"You still do, don't you?" She studied him, sure that that was what it was.

"Yes."

It still wasn't adding up. "He said you left? Why did you leave him if you love him?"

"It's complicated, as they say." She got the feeling he wasn't about to tell her. "It destroyed me to do so, but it was necessary. For his safety."

Lisa sighed and began to pace. It was a little difficult in her dress, but she needed to think. There were serious problems here. After Dean "told" her about Cas, she didn't pry. She understood that he'd lost someone he'd loved very much, and she knew better than to poke at him. It wasn't as if sometimes, when Dean had his nightmares, she didn't hear him saying Cas' name. She'd seen the way he sometimes rubbed his fingers over the wedding ring when he was lost in thought. She always assumed that he was still in love with _not-a-her_, even though she was gone. It was understandable.

That was what didn't add up. When your good friend leaves you, sure, you're upset about it, but not like that, not for so long. You don't _pine_. If it was a real love thing, Lisa wasn't complaining. She knew that eventually, he would stop loving _not-a-her_ so much, and it wasn't as if Dean didn't love _Lisa_, he did, she knew it, he just had a lot of love in him. Which was why the idea of Dean not loving this Cas didn't make sense.

Thing was, though, Lisa knew that someone who had the power to make you miserable by not being there could do the opposite if they were around.

"Just...just tell me one thing, okay?" Cas looked at with acquiescence. "Was he happy with you? Before you left? Like, was he really, honestly happy?"

"I think so, yes. As much as he could be. I could never offer him everything he needed, but I tried." Lisa sighed. The Dean she knew always had a shadow over his head. He tried to be happy, he did, but it was like it just wasn't possible. Now she was starting to understand why, and it hurt. It hurt more than she thought possible. Dean was, in some strange, twisted way, in love with someone else, and there was nothing she could do about it. If he wasn't happy with her, what claim did she have on him? That thought was a sucker punch.

Lisa gave him a effort at a smile. "Go figure things out with him. I have a feeling he'll forgive you... He's missed you. A lot. Okay? Let him know I'll call him when I'm done processing...all this."

Lisa walked from the room with the feeling that maybe, just maybe, she did the right thing, even if she was going to hurt from it for a while.

* * *

><p>Dean scowled on the church steps. He'd gotten out of there as fast as he could, but there was no way for him to get back to the hotel. No way he was going to take the "Just Married" limo. All-in-all, he was pretty screwed. In a moment, the entire wedding party would be crowding the steps and there'd be no escape.<p>

He started walking down the road. They were on the outskirts of town, but, if he walked a few miles, he could get a taxi. Then he'd be going straight to the hotel bar. He needed a blood alcohol level of at least .5 to be able to deal with the situation.

Ten minutes later, a Prius slowed next to him and honked. The window rolled down.

"Hop in, kiddo," Gabriel called out from the passenger seat.

Weary, Dean got in without question or complaint. He stretched himself out across the backseat, then curled up in a ball.

After the drove for a few minutes, he let out: "How is this real life? This is like a soap opera or something. Only worse. _Fucking Cas_."

"Dean, I really think you should give him a chance."

Dean snorted humorlessly. "Fuck you very much for _taking my side in all this_. I'm only your brother. I've only gotten you out of more shit than you can even remember."

"Sam's right," Gabriel said. "Give him a chance to tell you why he left and, more importantly, why he came back."

"Who the fuck _are _you two? Sorry, I thought my friends might have my back since my...since Cas just fucking left me because he's an asshole-" Dean knew it wasn't true, it was his own fault, but it helped to pretend "-and now he comes back to ruin the one shot I had at being happy. How the fuck did he even find the wedding?"

"_Talk to him_." Sam gave him a pointed look in the rearview mirror.

"I don't want to hear anything he has to say. Christ, I don't even know where he is right now. He could be halfway to the other side of the world for all I care."

"Bullshit, Dean. You're hurt, I know, but it'll help you to talk to him. I promise."

"What could he possibly say that would make any of it alright?"

"He _cares_ about you. _A lot_."

Dean rolled his eyes. "That is a steaming pile of horse shit, Sammy. You haven't talked to him, you don't know. He just wants revenge or something. Running away wasn't enough for him."

"I _have_ talked to him."

"Wait, what? What the fuck? When, just now? I got the feeling Lisa wasn't letting him loose any time soon."

"Briefly, and on the phone. A little more two days ago." Dean sat up and kicked the back of Sam's seat hard.

"Fuck you! You told him about the wedding, didn't you? You're such a fucking asshole. Just fuck you, Sam, fuck you. Don't talk to me anymore."

"Dean-"

"Shut the fuck up, Sam. Don't make me say it twice."

Dean definitely considered just opening the door and rolling out, but there were too many other cars for that to be a good idea.

"He has a good heart, Dean," Gabriel said softly, too softly for Dean to snap at him.

Instead, he just curled up and wished he were someone, anyone else.

* * *

><p>Sprawled across a chair in the corner of the hotel bar, a row of empty glasses in front of him, Dean came to a plan. Cas had destroyed him when he left, and yeah, it was partly Dean's fault, but Cas didn't have to come back. Gay as it was, he broke Dean's heart (he'd had enough to drink that he was actually able to think that at all) and Dean wasn't going to roll over and take it. No, Cas was going to have the same pain, he was going to hate himself like Dean did, and then maybe hate Dean a little, too. But mostly, he was going to hurt inside, all the way down. He was going to learn what that felt like.<p>

Dean knew exactly what to do.


	21. Chapter 20

September, 2011

* * *

><p>He showed up in Castiel's office without warning. Just opened the door, walked right in, and there was his past, standing right in front of him.<p>

"_Uriel_," he ground out. "What are you doing here?"

"It's simple, Castiel. We want you back. Raphael has been looking for you for some time. We want you to command your old garrison."

"Anna won't take too kindly to that, I'm sure."

"Anael has fallen. She is not of your concern." Uriel smiled. "I know you miss it, Castiel. The battle calls to you. You miss having orders to follow. You always were so obedient before this mess with the Winchesters."

"I'm not going back, and I will ask you once and only once to leave." Castiel didn't show his fear, but it was a very bad sign that they'd found him. They were dangerous. Perhaps not to him, but to Dean and to Sam, and he couldn't bear it.

"Think about it. Before we have to get _persuasive_." Castiel knew exactly what he meant by that, and it was enough to raise goosebumps.

After Uriel left, the feeling of despair stayed.

* * *

><p>Three Weeks Later<p>

* * *

><p>Dean was at work, one of the mornings Castiel had off, when he liked to sleep in a little, shower long enough to relax just a little (he needed it these days), and spend time with his coffee. He was just pouring it into his cup when he heard the voice behind him.<p>

"Isn't this domestic? He really has you well-trained, doesn't he?" Castiel turned, shoulders stiffening in fear. Raphael himself. Very, _very_ bad sign. "Pity. We'll have to cure you of your laziness."

"Raphael, what brings you?" The commander's eyes were fierce, bright. Castiel knew that he could be killed in under a minute by the man.

"It's been a long time, brother. We've lost so many of our family. Some by your hand, some by the Winchesters, some by others. Our numbers are dwindling. This is my formal offer to come back and rejoin the ranks. I suggest you take it freely."

"And if I refuse?" Raphael gave him a look that was sure to bring a weaker man to tremble.

"I would highly recommend that you don't."

Castiel tilted his chin up in a gesture of defiance, something he'd learned from Dean. "If you kill me, you won't have me on your side. You aren't thinking this through."

"Oh, I won't kill _you_, Castiel. I'll kill that Winchester right in front of you."

"If you do so, I won't stop until I've killed you. I will destroy anyone you send for Dean."

"I'm well aware of your weakness for him. That would be why he won't be the first Winchester to die. Sam will go first, and Dean will watch. He will know full well that it was your doing. _Then_, I will kill him."

"You aren't the only ArchAngel in San Francisco, and you'll face him, too, if you kill Sam. We will end you."

"You think I haven't been keeping tabs on Gabriel? I am not a fool. He's grown soft, weak. He will die as well. Understand, Castiel, that I will not hesitate to kill everyone you know, and slowly. Even if you manage to retain the strength of will to fight me after I kill them, they will still be gone. Dean will be dead, and he will die hating you. Can you bear it? You have such a weak heart; I don't think you can. But you don't have to. Join me, and you will not have to worry for their safety. I can have them protected, even. All you have to do is say yes."

"Yes," Castiel said after a moment. He couldn't live if Dean were to die; it was the only option.

"You have three weeks. Meet here." He passed a slip of paper to him, and when Castiel looked up from it, Raphael was gone, and Castiel was alone, as he would be soon.

It wasn't a choice at all, and that was the problem. Dean didn't understand the concept of not having a choice. He was too free, too defiant, and Castiel knew for certain that if he explained it to Dean, he would claim that he could take care of himself and Sam and that Castiel was insane for not fighting back. There were times, however, when one had to examine the battlefield and choose not to fight until they had the upper hand. Castiel just needed to get that upper hand.

That was why he called the one person who he could drag into the mess without worrying for their safety, someone who knew the tricky ground he was walking when it came to the angels. Someone who, hopefully, might know how to fight back, underhanded as it might be.

Crowley answered on the third ring.

* * *

><p>Three Weeks Later<p>

* * *

><p>Procrastinating was both accidental and inevitable. It wasn't as if Castiel was excited about the prospect of easing the separation for Dean. Crowley's plan would take at least three years to complete, and Castiel did not have the heart to make Dean wonder after him about how it was progressing or when he'd come home. Better yet, it was very likely that there was be surveillance on him, and if Castiel breathed a word of the plan, it would crumble. Dean couldn't know. To tell him would be to forfeit his life. The best he could do was to make it easier for him.<p>

Something Castiel had noticed right away on meeting Dean Winchester was his incredible capacity for both love and hate. His love for Sam was unwavering, unconditional, and his hate for anyone that had threatened them was equally as devoted. Castiel knew that the quickest way to make Dean hate him was to threaten Sam, but he knew he had to make it out of the apartment alive, which, despite his strength, he quite possibly wouldn't if he did so.

If what Sam and Gabriel had said countless times was anything to go by, Dean cared for him. Platonically (Sam and Gabriel would argue against this, but Castiel couldn't even comprehend the idea of Dean returning his feelings), but it was a strong, profound bond that they shared. If Castiel himself could hurt him emotionally, directly, it would no doubt be enough to make Dean hate him, which would make the whole business easier. Then, in three years, when the plan was complete and a good portion of Dean's hate wore off, Castiel would explain everything, and they would be able to pick up where they left off, if not for a few hiccups.

It took him half an hour to steel himself enough to actually go through with it.

"I'm leaving," he said, glad the words didn't sound as horrible as they tasted.

"You don't have work until tomorrow." Oh, that look of confusion was almost too much. Castiel didn't think he'd have to explain so much. He'd hoped not.

A lead weight in his chest, he forced his mouth to pronounce: "No, I'm leaving _you_, Dean. I'm leaving you." The way Dean crumpled made Castiel inhale sharply and nearly take it all back, tell him everything. But he couldn't. It was for Dean. He had to do it for Dean.

For some strange reason, Dean pinched himself and began looking around the room wildly. He looked like he was fraying at the seams. Castiel could hardly bear it.

"I have to do this, Dean," he said, hoping it might be the last thing he had to say.

"Bullshit." That was not quite what he had expected, but he should have. Defiance. It was there, the tilt of his chin, the challenge, and soon, the anger. That was what he needed. That was the response that would save them both. Anger. Rage. "What the fuck are you talking about? Cause it isn't funny."

Castiel forced himself to be a little casual, like it was something he was comfortable with. "I've packed. I'm leaving. It isn't up for discussion, but I thought I'd tell you in person."

Dean grabbed him by the shirt. "What the fuck? _No_. Why? Why the actual fuck would you pull something like this?" He was too desperate. The anger was gone. No, he needed it back, he needed the rage if they were ever to get through it whole. There was only one thing to do - direct assault. Destroy his character, break him down with words. That had to bring the rage back.

"You. Because of you. I can't take it anymore. You're using me because you're lazy and you don't want to find someone who might love you, so you use me. You won't let me have normal relationships. You don't want me to be happy. I'm done. I'm _out_." The frightening thing was, some of it was actually vaguely true. It wasn't healthy for them to stay together, not with Castiel barely able to see past the ache in his chest when he saw Dean, that knowledge that he loved him more than he cared to admit _ever_, and Dean would never, as long as they lived, feel the same. The closest he could come was making it impossible for Castiel to be happy with others. It was a recipe for destruction.

"No. No, you can't do this." _Stop breaking in front of me_, Castiel wanted to say. _Snap back, fight back, just stop breaking_. He couldn't handle it.

"I can and I am. I'm not some toy, Dean. You can't just throw me away when you're bored. I have my own life, and at least where I used to be, I had respect. Honestly, I was better off under Raphael." There it was, the hint that he would go back to a life he hated more than anything to escape him. That had to be enough.

Dean threw his weight against him, getting him against the wall, and Castiel just let it happen because he couldn't bring himself to fight back. Not when he deserved it. Dean was grabbing at his shirt, his own shirt (Castiel had thought it might hurt him more to see it on him when he was leaving). Their faces were just so impossibly close, and for a thrilling, breathless moment, Castiel thought Dean might kiss him, like he did long ago, on a hotel couch, when he fooled him, just for a few seconds, into thinking that Dean wanted him too. If he did it, Castiel wouldn't have been able to go through with it. One kiss, and the whole plan would go up in flames. He'd take Dean and Sam and Gabriel too and they'd run, fast and far, and just keep running. They'd be caught and killed, and all for the price of a kiss.

The kiss didn't come, not yet, because suddenly, those lips that Castiel still half-remembered the feel of were moving.

"Don't leave me, alright? Look, I can make it right, just don't leave me, not for them. Please. I'll do anything, okay? I can't-I just can't let you go." They couldn't be so close. It was tearing Castiel apart, the hint of the one thing he wanted, how it was about to ruin the one thing he needed, that being, Dean, _alive_. He couldn't let it happen, had to break him down a little more, and maybe Dean might turn angry again, not this.

"I can't _stand_ you. I don't _like _you. You're just an immature boy who forgot to grow up. You're so desperate for someone to cling to, you'll take anyone. Sam. Myself. Bobby. You need someone to define who you are, and I can't be that for you anymore. You've made it so that you're my only option to be happy, but I'm a distant second for you. Sam will always come first, no matter how many times he's let you down, and you've never even witnessed what I've done for you. I just can't do it anymore." It felt, to Castiel, like he was actually telling the truth about himself at times, and the whole mess was all sorts of wrong. Castiel was feeling the worst nausea he'd felt since the morning he married the man whose heart he was breaking.

"That's not true! Sam _needs_ me. You don't need me. It's different, I swear. Just stay."

"Dean Winchester, I _loathe_ you.-" _lovelovelove, why couldn't he just tell the truth?_ "-The last thing I want is to stay here another second. I'm leaving. I'm gone. Accept it." Cas pushed him away gently, tenderly, afraid he might break him, fetched his luggage from his room, wishing he were in a dream.

But there was Dean, looking so broken and hollow, just one touch would make him fall into dust. It was that one touch that Castiel knew he needed to make it work, and that was what would kill him, too.

Castiel poured every feeling he'd never felt for Dean into what he knew would have to be his last look at him. "This is pathetic."

"Come on, Cas, we can fix this." Dean had to see that his eyes were a second away from leaking, given the burn, and Castiel nearly lost it when he saw a single tear roll down his face. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Where was the anger? The hate? Anything but this. He couldn't handle Dean's sorrow.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and said, "It's not broken; it's just gone. There's nothing to fix. Go indulge in some self-pity; I know you're longing to." How his feet managed to carry him across the threshold, he had no idea, seeing as all he wanted was to stay, but he couldn't hurt Dean like that, couldn't let him hurt physically, so he left.

At the curb of the apartment building, he sent a text message to Crowley. _It's done_.

It was, and Castiel was, too.

* * *

><p>The thing about being a soldier was that it wasn't always a full-time job. As leader of his garrison, he was the one who received the orders first, so he knew when they'd be occupied and he had easy access to transportation.<p>

It was four months before he went back to San Francisco, enough time to ingratiate himself with his new boss and begin to line up the dominoes Crowley had given him. Crowley was not a good man, hardly trustworthy, but they had similar goals, and he was more than able to have men keeping tabs on Dean for him.

When Castiel landed, he was given a location and a car, and in the end, he spent seven hours outside of Lisa Braeden's house. He saw Dean playing with the boy, some sport (he didn't know them well enough to differentiate), and Dean was smiling. He watched them eat dinner, a dinner that Dean helped cook, and still, he was smiling. He watched Dean make love to the woman in her bed, watched her have Dean the way he never would, and it hurt, all of it hurt.

Castiel watched them for a week. The troubling thing was that their Dean was not the Dean Castiel had known. He was a little too carefree, a little too eager, and too in-control. When Dean and the woman made love, he was above her, or he was in control of their motion. He was afraid, Castiel saw, when they moved together in her bed. He was afraid of her because if he let her be the one to set the pace, she would have power over him, and he didn't trust her enough for that yet. It was written all over his face, the careful, determined fear. It wasn't that he wasn't treating her well because, from what Castiel could tell, she was more than enjoying herself, but she didn't have him.

(_Castiel had had him. Dean had said it himself that if they had copulated, he would be on the receiving end. It meant Dean had trusted him, and he had. Castiel was the only one alive who knew the extent of Dean's issues with intimacy, and that woman would never come close. She would never be able to have all of him._)

It seemed as if Dean was perfectly fine, however, even if he was perhaps too happy. Maybe he had just never been _as_ happy with Castiel. Maybe that was it. Or maybe he was just faking for these people where he'd never faked it with him.

Thoughts like those made him feel as if he were retching from the base of his soul.

* * *

><p>Castiel would visit every few months. Every time, he'd watch Dean, and Dean would be happy. A few times, he'd find Dean waking up from a nightmare, but the woman didn't comfort him as well as Castiel could because she didn't know how. Sometimes, Dean would just drink, and he wouldn't know why. He drank until he looked miserable, and then seemed to wallow in it. Castiel wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but he couldn't, he never could. He had to give up on loving him until it was safe.<p>

* * *

><p>Crowely had been wrong, after all. Things moved much faster than he'd thought. Castiel himself was enough to spark an insurgency amongst the ranks. Angels would come to him, would whisper to him in the dark, to ask what it was like, being free. His second-in-command, Rachael, warned him against it. She cared for him, enough to want him to protect himself by keeping his mouth closed, but he told those who would listen that the point of life was not to follow orders, but to choose. Some paid attention, some would not, but at times, it hardly mattered. Sometimes his words tasted bitter in his mouth because he knew that to choose sometimes meant to choose wrong, sometimes on purpose, or to choose right, even if it meant to hurt.<p>

He let his words spread across the ranks in whispers, fly across sands and tundra and jungles and rivers and mountains and cities. It worried him, how fast the idea was spreading, for Raphael was vigilant and would learn soon that his brothers and sisters were beginning to think and to question, and the one name common to their lips was Castiel.

There was danger in it, and there was victory. Every now and then, a small group, no more than three or four, of those most loyal to Raphael might go missing in Sudan, or North Korea, or Cuba, and the whispers would turn smug and proud. But he never wanted to kill, and they didn't understand that because they were all killers. Castiel had ached each time he'd killed a brother, he still ached for them. That their private war meant they had to kill their own filled him with rage, with righteous anger, that this was what they were pushed to. He knew they would have freedom, and soon, but not until after their hands were soaked in the blood of their kin.

* * *

><p>Castiel saw the ring on Lisa Braeden's finger too late. His first thought was that she was being unfaithful to Dean, but he quickly realized the truth. Dean wasn't supposed to move on <em>that<em> much. Not when power was shifting so rapidly, Castiel could taste the victory, just months, just a few months, and he'd be able to come home. But it seemed Dean was finding a new home, even if once, he'd found Dean lying in his bed back at their own apartment, oblivious to the dust in Castiel's room, lying there like maybe he missed Castiel, too. If it weren't for the ring, Castiel might have believed it, but before he could become too immersed in the weight of his sorrow, he was called away again.

* * *

><p>In Castiel's hour of glory, he felt leaden. They were so close, it was as if time were pulling him backwards, dragging him away from the last thing he needed to do. Rachael was by his side, and they were in Somalia, their backs pressed against the rear wall of the large house Raphael was using as his command center. Castiel had some of his own men inside, though he wasn't sure how many, and they would ease his and Rachael's passage inwards to Raphael's inner chamber.<p>

It took half an hour, a good chunk of it spent hiding, before they were at the right door. Staring at the wood, Castiel heard Crowley's words in his mind. _If you cut the head off the snake, the rest will follow._ This was what they needed. It was so simple. All Castiel had to do was kill Raphael, and it would be over with. The ranks would fall in line behind him, and he would set them free. Simple.

He was not prepared for what he saw when he flung open the door.

Raphael behind a large desk, as expected, but his guest's presence was something of an enigma.

"Really, it's a bloody sauna in this country. I suppose you mouth-breathers could use that as an excuse for your complete lack of subtlety. A prancing moose could have got the drop on us better." Crowley's eyes flashed, like he was enjoying a private joke. Castiel supposed he was, considering his obvious betrayal.

"You're right on time; I've just had a very enlightening conversation with my new friend," Raphael said calmly, sipping an iced beverage.

Without moving obviously, Castiel pressed a button inside his jacket cuff. "I feel I should be more surprised at this turn of events," he said casually. His hand went to the small of Rachael's back, giving her the signal. They had five minutes to leave before the place went up in flames. Five minutes to make sure Raphael stayed behind.

Raphael leaned forward in his seat. "I hope you didn't think you were getting away with anything. I've been aware of you for months, Castiel. It was perhaps the most ill-thought-out plan I've been witness to. You should be ashamed." Castiel stared at him hard. "I'm going to destroy you, you know. You're rather more of a nuisance than I'm going to let live." Castiel fought the urge to look around. They needed to get out, and soon. There was a flashbomb in his pocket, but it would be difficult to get to and still retain the element of surprise.

Raphael stood and walked over to them. He was certainly taller that Castiel, but it wasn't his height that was intimidating. It was his eyes. He had the most hateful eyes Castiel had been on the receiving end of.

"You have no power here, Castiel. You are nothing." Raphael smirked.

Rachael threw herself into him bodily, shouting something Castiel took to mean "_Now_", and he threw the flashbomb, covering his eyes with an arm. A split second later, he drew it away, finding Raphael and Rachael grappling blindly on the floor.

"_Run_," she hissed when he tried to pull her away. "I'll hold him."

"No. Come on. I'll seal the door behind us. I'm not leaving you behind." He pulled her up by the shoulder, helped her to her feet, and guided her from the room. Outside, he shut the doors and wrapped Kevlar rope around the handles, tying it off tight so there'd be no out for Raphael unless he happened up on an axe or an automatic weapon. "I'll guide you," Castiel said, taking Rachael by the arm and leading her quickly as possible to the exit. The had to clear a certain area to escape the blast radius, and their time was quickly running out.

Down the stairs, through hallways, he pulled her along as quickly as he could, breathing a sigh of relief when they hit the back door of the house and an open field behind it.

"Run," he commanded, breaking into a sprint, hand wrapped around hers, keeping her behind. Their feet pounded the uneven ground, knees lifting high to avoid tripping, the way they were trained. They sprinted like machines, not acknowledging their burning lungs or legs. They ran and ran and ran until Castiel was sure they were more than far enough away. He slowed to a stop, panting, and turned around to watch.

A few seconds later, the house burst from its foundations, flames spreading hundreds of feet in every direction. The sound of the explosion was a physical thing, and a few seconds after the blast, he felt a puff of air on his face.

Minutes later, a helicopter rose, only to combust from within. Castiel had planned ahead when making his back-up plan - several trucks in the area were wired with explosives as well, and would be going off in the next few minutes. There was no way Raphael could possibly survive. It was a weight off his chest and shoulders, the end of an era.

Castiel pulled out his radio. "Barachiel, do you copy?" Static for a second, then,

"Here. Over." More static. "Is it done?"

"It's done." He relayed their coordinates, specifying that a medical officer be on the helicopter. Rachael was still blind and probably partially deaf. She should fully come to her senses within the hour, but he wanted to be sure. She nearly gave her life for him, and that was not something he took lightly.

* * *

><p>In the end, when it was time for Castiel to go home again, when the date on his watch was nearing the day he'd seen Dean and Lisa Braeden set aside for the wedding, it was Rachael he took with him. Theoretically, with the entire force falling into anarchy, he should have left his second-in-command behind to be sure that World War III was not begun while he was away, but he wanted her to come with him. She was the only one of his brothers and sisters he considered to be a friend. Not a logical decision, but an emotional one. Dean would appreciate that.<p>

Castiel had told her all about Dean months before. In fact, she was the only one he'd trusted with the secret of where he went when they finished each mission. She didn't understand love the way he did, in the practical sense, and not hardly in any other sense, but he'd introduced a little humanity with a few DVDs he picked up in London and Paris, a little education on love. It had taken her some time to understand what the feeling meant, what it meant Castiel would do for Dean (that being _anything_) and how that affected everything Castiel did. She thought he was eccentric for marrying him, a normal man, not just in theory, but when he was convinced that Dean could never return his feelings. No, she didn't understand fully, but she knew him better than any other he'd spoken to since Dean, and he needed support if he was going to watch Dean marry a woman.

* * *

><p>The decision was made accidentally, as by the time their plane landed in Kansas and they'd made it to Lawrence, it was late at night and the wedding was in the morning. Castiel found a motel so that he and Rachael could get the first sleep they'd had in thirty hours. He'd had the good sense to call Sam at the airport before he'd left Rome, just to gather a little information on when and where the ceremony would take place. Sam, thank goodness, had accepted his admission that there had been blackmail involved in his sudden departure and a promise to explain in detail later and had told him what he needed to know.<p>

* * *

><p>Rachael came with him to the wedding, and they'd entered the church after most of the crowd, hanging in the back, out of sight. Castiel pointed out Dean at the altar.<p>

"He's very good-looking. I can understand why you're infatuated with him."

"He is. And he's more."

"He looks afraid. Are you certain he's as eager as you say?"

Castiel watched Dean shift, look at Sam, shift again. "It's possible he is less than enthusiastic, but he was nervous when I married him. To be honest, I have no idea what that means."

"You don't want him to go through with this, do you?"

"Of course not, but if it will make him happy, then I have no choice."

"You always have a choice. You taught me that." She held something out to him. A folder. He opened it, seeing a marriage license that he definitely remembered signing. How she'd come by it, he had no idea, but Rachael was resourceful.

"Thank you." What he would do with it was not a decision he'd made, but he held onto it.

* * *

><p>The wedding march began to play, and Lisa emerged through the doors. She looked beautiful, and perhaps Castiel resented her for that a little. She was lovely and she had the life Dean wanted to be a part of. A life where Castiel was not even a thought.<p>

"They have a point in weddings where they ask for objections, correct? A person who loves one of those to be married objects so that they may be happy together. That was what I gathered from the movies."

"Sometimes, I think. We omitted it in our nuptials. They might do the same."

"If they don't, you should voice your objection." He looked at her sharply. "You love him. Legally, he's yours. You have more claim to him than her. It makes sense that you would object."

He considered it. "I suppose I will." But even if things were to proceed in the best possible way, there would still be loose ends to take care of. "If he will take me, will you assume command?"

"If that is what you wish."

"Wish me luck," he said softly, even though he knew she would not understand the phrase. Then, in a louder voice, he said clearly, "I have an objection."

* * *

><p>After Lisa had left him alone in the sacristy, Castiel went on a quiet mission to find Sam. He needed an ambassador to talk to Dean, it seemed, as he'd finally progressed into the angry phase. That did not bode well. He was supposed to have passed through that phase a year earlier. Castiel had counted on him to have "cooled his heels" so that maybe they could converse. It seemed very unlikely that he'd be able to have a civilized conversation with him. On top of that, there was the fact that, despite everything, he didn't dislike Lisa. She was far more polite to him than he would have been in her shoes. Where Dean was concerned, he was not fond of sharing, and hearing about someone else would have driven him mad, the way Lisa did. She'd surprised him.<p>

Finally, he spotted the taller Winchester brother. "Sam! I've been looking for you." Sam turned abruptly, then rushed to him.

"Cas! Jesus! What happened in there? I heard the wedding is off."

"It is. Lisa has decided that she needs time to process and has instructed me to talk to him." Rachael sidled up to them.

"I had not expected Dean to run. Is this not the part where you embrace amorously and kiss to swirling music?" she said, and for a second Castiel realized how Dean must have felt about him on occasion. The feeling of seeing someone without a grasp on the differences between fictionalized life and real life. It was very nearly surreal.

"That's only in the movies. Real life is often far more disappointing," he told her, then turned to Sam and Gabriel, who'd just joined them. "Sam, this is Rachael. She is my second in command. Rachael, this is Sam Winchester and perhaps you will remember Gabriel?" She tilted her head at Gabriel for a moment.

"Your cheekbones and chin are different from how they were when you were last with us, as well as your hairline. You've aged. I think I remember you being taller."

"You were a kid; of course I was taller," he snapped. "Not that I didn't adjust my height a little after leaving." Sam looked at him, surprised. "I was 5'10" when I left. They'd be looking for someone between 5'10" and 6 foot. I settled for 5'8". Much safer."

"This is all very informative," Castiel said with a sense of urgency, "but I need to ask: Sam, will you talk to Dean on my behalf? I need to converse with him. I have a lot to explain."

"I'll talk to him. Here, let us go find him. We're staying at the Claremont, downtown. His room is 531. He'll be there sometime tonight, just let me go find him and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid." Sam wrapped his hand around Gabriel's shoulder, starting to steer him in the direction of the exit.

"Thank you."

"No, thank _you_. I was starting to worry you'd never come back." He offered a smile to Rachael. "It was nice meeting you." They walked away, and Rachael looked at him curiously.

"Are they having intercourse?"

"Yes, though you shouldn't say such things in a church, I have been told."

"They make an interesting couple."

Cas smiled a little, thinking about it. "You haven't even seen much of them yet." He glanced around. "Come on. We should pay a visit to the Claremont."

* * *

><p><strong>Greetings, readers! <strong>

**I'd like to thank you for hanging in there thus far. It means so much to me that people have been reading, and I especially thank you if you've dropped a review to tell me what you think! I love all of you! **

**Story-wise, you have about seven chapters to go, I think. There's some ups and downs ahead, to be sure. You haven't quite seen the last of Lisa yet, and there's some twists and turns. I hope you plan to keep reading! :)**


	22. Chapter 21

Dean was in the elevator, about to go up to his room, when an attractive blonde woman slipped into the elevator with him. After the doors closed, she waited a second before pressing the emergency stop button and turning to him. Dean, still half-drunk, backed away against the cool stainless steel wall.

"Dean Winchester, I think it is time you and I have words." He backed away a little further.

"Who the fuck're you? How do you know my name?"

"I am a friend of Castiel's," she said, quietly, but intensely, like how Cas used to get sometimes. "I want you to be aware that he's been fighting a war for the past year and a half, and if he hadn't been, there's no telling what Raphael might have done to this world. You've been insensitive to his ordeals, and I would like you to understand the lengths that he has gone to to protect his home, which, to be clear, he has decided to define as wherever you are. Do not take him for granted. He is far more powerful than you could imagine, and yet he chooses you over glory. I suggest you thank him." The woman pressed the emergency button again, and the elevator resumed heading up.

Dean was taken aback. The woman was like some kind of whirlwind, abrupt and a little scary. Thankfully, before he got too freaked out, she got off at the third floor, leaving him to head upwards.

The thought that Cas' friend or whatever knew where he was was kind of creepy, but he was exhausted and wanted to go drown in his bathtub, so he didn't think about it too much. More than that, he had a plan to put in action, so maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that Cas might be nearby. Everything might actually end well after all.

* * *

><p>Dean peeled off the tux jacket as soon as he got in the door of his room, was working on his bow tie when he saw the back of a head peeking out above the arm chair. His immediate impulse was to attack with words and fists, but he pushed that down because he had a <em>plan<em>. He could make Cas hurt more than that, and it would be so much sweeter.

"Hello, Dean." Cas stood up. He was still in his trenchcoat, which seemed odd for some reason. Normal. Dean didn't know what to say, though. He knew he had a plan but when it came down to it, he was afraid a little. Didn't know how to start.

Cas filled in the silence for him, saying, "I'm sorry for that dramatic display at the church. It was not my intent."

Seeing him standing there, Dean found that the words were locked away somewhere in his chest. They just weren't coming out. So he didn't try. He took a step, then another, another, slowly, pausing between each step until he made it in front of Cas, right in front of him like he'd been imagining for months. Their proximity made it feel like when Cas left, and anger and hurt flared up in his gut.

Dean put his hands on Cas' jaw, secretly amused that he jerked away a little, like he'd been shocked. Dean was actually surprised to find that Cas was real, that it was Cas' stubbly jaw in his hands. He'd touched his face before, but it had been a long, long time. Yes, it was all real. But Dean was getting distracted, and that wasn't okay.

"_Cas_," he whispered. "I missed you so damn much. I just...Why did you leave? I can't-No, I don't care. It only matters that you're here now." He stroked Cas' cheekbones with his thumbs, then looked him in the eyes. Oh, jeez, bad move. His eyes were too full, too open, and it hurt to look at him, knowing that Dean was going to hurt him.

"Dean, I'm so sorry." His mouth sort of fell with the words. "I didn't want to. You don't know how hard it was for me-"

"_Shhh_. I don't want to think about that right now, okay?" He leaned in a little, their noses bumping gently. "I just need you to be back. I just missed you. I missed _this_. I missed this before you left, even, and I...I just..." Dean leaned in with a gentle press of the lips, and it felt wrong, to be doing it like this, to use this as a weapon, but it was the best weapon he had. You didn't fight fire with fire; you fought it with water, the polar opposite. If the opposite of hate was love, then he could use it as a weapon. Maybe it was what he should've done before Cas left in the first place, to keep him forever, and that was why it felt like a knife to the stomach when he nipped at Cas' lower lip gently, then pulled away, looking him in the eyes.

Cas' voice was soft and low. "Dean, I...I don't think..." He sounded so confused, as he should. It was a line of intent that had never been crossed. Dean ignored it, and instead kissed him urgently on the mouth, quick, chaste presses, like all he wanted was more. A shiver went up his spine when Cas' fingers slid into his hair, rough against his scalp, but then they pulled his face away, and Cas searched his eyes. Dean felt like he was under a microscope.

Hoping that Cas wouldn't see through him, he asked, "What?"

"You don't want this," Cas ground out, voice scraping like gravel.

In Dean's chest, panic reared its head. "Yes, I do. What are you talking about? I want you. I want you to never leave again." Castiel shook, his face dropping into a look of horror. Dean was more confused that he'd been in his life. "What's wrong?"

"This is. Everything about this. I know you don't want me this way, I _know_ you, Dean. This isn't real. Why are you doing this?"

Dean panicked over his response, coming out a little whiny. "Cas, come on. I missed you. I need you." It was apparently the wrong thing to say because Cas took a step backwards, shaking his head.

"No, Dean, this isn't right. This isn't how it should be. You're confused. You don't love me like this, and that's fine. You don't have to do this. I won't leave you again."

"Cas, I just want to be with you." Dean sensed a victory, a strange one. Like he'd won even though he'd gotten all the rules to the game wrong. It made him cocky, and maybe that was why he said what slipped out next. "Don't you love me?" He wished he could take it back because it wasn't true, not in the way it sounded like he meant, and he was going to get caught in his lie, but then Cas seemed to collapse a little.

"I'll have to tell your brother that the road to hell is paved with good intentions."

And what the fuck did that mean?

"Cas, please, just let me be with you, okay?"

Cas' eyes and voice went sharp. "No!" he snapped. "Stop playing this game. Stop offering things you don't want to give. I don't need this from you to stay; I'll stay without it. I know what Sam told you, and that's not why I left." Dean was so confused. What the hell did Sam say? What was going on? Did Cas figure out his plan?

"What Sam said?"

"I know he told you, but it doesn't have to change anything. You don't have to pretend to love me to make me stay. How I feel...it doesn't change a thing."

Dean dropped the act, the plan, everything, because what he was hearing was too much, too strange, pointing to too many weird truths, and frankly, the plan could go fuck itself.

"What do you mean?"

"Dean, I'm not stupid." Cas sighed. "Sam told you I love you, and you were so upset that I left that you thought you'd pretend to love me back so I'd stay. But Dean, I didn't leave because you didn't love me. I _had_ to leave. For you."

Dean's knee-jerk reaction was a loud, emphatic, "Fuck you!" He shook his head. "Is that what you think I am? Some sort of needy bitch who was so torn up about you leaving that I'd pull some stupid charade so you'd stay? Fuck you."

Thing was, when he thought about it, his real plan was about ten times more complicated and a bit more pathetic.

It took Dean a second, though, to fully work out everything he'd said. "Wait, you love me? Like, _love me, _love me_? _What the _fuck_? Are you shitting me?" Cas' face paled in panic, something Dean never thought he'd see.

"I thought Sam told you." His voice was hollow and it struck Dean that, yeah, Cas kind of did actually love him like that, and kind of a lot, from the look of it. "I have to go," he said softly, pushing past Dean, practically running for the door.

* * *

><p>Dean stood there, paralyzed with shock.<p>

So, well then. Cas loved him. Romantically, it seemed. Like, the whole shebang. All of it. For how long, though? Before he left, it seemed, but how long? How weird. It didn't make sense, not a lick.

But then he thought about it and, holy fucking shit, it did make sense, it made an assload of sense, and shit, what was his life? How fucked up was that? How long had it gone on, Cas being in love with him and him having no fucking clue? Dean clawed at his hair, tugged at it, trying to ground himself with the pain. It was too fucking much. Too much. The idea that Cas loved him? Too crazy.

More than that, though, it _hurt_. Thinking of Cas, forever ago, sitting there, being in love with him when Dean did stupid stuff like tell him to go get laid and -_ohshitshitshit_- taking his first kiss, and all the cuddling. Holy fuck, Dean was the biggest tease ever. He literally had cockblocked Cas just by existing. More than kind of a dick move. And _oh god_, when he told Cas that he didn't want him to be with anyone, that was just cruel. Dean had been cruel. Terrible. He'd held Cas against him like a lover and told him it didn't mean a thing. He'd walked around in his underwear, done all sorts of stupid shit without thinking, and then, _oh sweet Mary mother of god_, he'd married the guy. Might as well have just walked up to him and said, "Oh, hey, let's be together forever, and by the way, you aren't gonna get any. _Ever_."

The physical nature of it all just made him feel guilty, but it was when he accidentally thought of the emotional side of it that he buried his face in his pillow and screamed until he couldn't. To love someone, to legitimately love someone, maybe not for long, but maybe for a long fucking time, having to be around them pretty much 24/7, knowing that they had absolutely no romantic feelings for you in return, that was just torture. Seeing him every day, just doing normal stuff, making dinner together or something, and thinking about how you had run a marathon, then stopped just short of the finish line, stuck in concrete. So close, and yet never close enough. All of the little stuff. Smelling your shampoo on him, thinking that it's almost like you smell like each other, like your smell rubbed off on him, only it didn't. Or worse, standing close, on accident, close enough to kiss but never going through with it. Then having to kiss him over and over again but not being able to say that it meant something, meant everything to you.

That was the problem. Dean empathized too well when it came to Cas. He wanted so badly to hate him now, but he couldn't, couldn't stand it, because Cas, Cas who had done so much for him, had never left him, not until he did, and then Cas had been hurting in a way no one should.

And Dean was angry, too, that Cas had never told him, that he'd flat-out lied to him in that one confrontation Dean had replayed a million times over, the one where Dean was revealed to be a complete failure. Cas had lied, then, had to have, but why? Why would he hurt Dean like that if he loved him? How could he have done it?

"Fuck. This is all just so fucked. What am I supposed to do?" Dean growled into the pillow, aching all over, but mostly in his chest. He was desperate. He needed answers.

Sighing at the indignity of it, he pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial.

"Dean? What's going on? You okay?" Sam sounded worried, as always. Dean glanced at the clock and saw that it was kind of late, so maybe he had a reason to be.

"How long has Cas been in love with me?"

Silence on the other end.

"Answer the fucking question! You owe me that much."

Sam sighed loud, crackling against Dean's ear. "I don't know. Before you guys moved out to San Francisco. I don't really know how long before that."

"_Shit_." That was a really, _really_ long time. It hurt, hearing it.

"It took you long enough to figure it out."

"I didn't. He was here, and I don't know, we were talking, and he thought you told me. I didn't get it at first, but then he said it, and...I'm so stupid, aren't I? How could I not have _seen_? It must have been horrible for him. What-what do I do now, Sammy? How do I fix it?" He hated how weak he sounded, but he couldn't help it.

"If you're asking me that, then I think you need to take a good, hard look at yourself. Let me know when you figure it out." The line went dead suddenly, and Dean threw his phone across the room. What was that supposed to mean? _Really_.

* * *

><p>Ten minutes later, he got up to pick up his phone, then hit the speed dial he hadn't touched in over a year.<p>

It took five rings for Cas to answer, and when he did, his voice was gruff and a little shaky. "Dean, I'm sorry. I never meant for this to happen. You weren't supposed to know."

"We need to talk. I don't know where you are. Can you come here?"

"Yes." The line went dead again. Cas still needed to work on phone etiquette. It was one of those very familiar Cas things that just made him hurt a little more.

* * *

><p>Dean hated waiting, hated it more than anything. It took fifteen minutes for the knock on his door, and he nearly beat the walls down in the meantime. Warily, he opened it and let Cas inside.<p>

"Hey," he said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, I need you to tell me why you left first, before we get to the rest of it. So, shoot."

And Cas told him. Told him about Uriel and Raphael and his threats, about all of it, how he hated saying the things that had broken Dean down into something pathetic and destroyed, his time back in the ranks, when he watched Lisa's house, all up to when he killed Raphael. For over an hour, Cas spoke, eyes flaring at times. He'd done so much and Dean had had no idea of any of it.

It was a lot to take in. Dean had to take a moment to sit and process it all, but it all made sense.

"I'm sorry I had to lie to you, Dean. It was..._unpleasant_." Yeah, Dean knew just how unpleasant it was lying to Cas. He got it.

"I just...I just wanna know. How long? I mean, how long have you, you know?"

"Been in love with you?" Cas asked dryly. "Since roughly within the first minutes of meeting you."

Without warning, a tear pushed out of Dean's eye, and he wiped it away, only for it to be joined by another on the other side. Fucking Cas. Why'd he have to say something like that? Dean had been a monster when they met, practically inhuman. That had been one of his darkest moments, and Cas loved him then? Loved him still? That couldn't be real. It couldn't work like that. A person couldn't love all of you like that. No one did. No one could. And fucking Cas, to say it like it was the truth... Dean just couldn't handle it. Yeah, he was embarrassed about the couple of tears, but Jesus, Cas knew everything, saw everything, and still?

"God, _why_?" Dean breathed. It didn't make any sense. He wasn't worthy of that kind of love.

"You've always been a righteous man. I thought it was stunning that there was still good in you, and there was more than I thought. You just kept proving yourself to be better and better, and I couldn't help it. I'm sorry." The worst thing was, he actually _sounded sorry_.

"Cas, no. Don't apologize. That's the best thing anyone's ever said to me." And it actually was. Cas really, really knew him, right down to his worst bits, and if he loved him anyway, it was nothing short of a miracle. Dean didn't deserve it, not by a mile. "_I_'m sorry, Cas. For everything I put you through. I just-I had no idea. I didn't want to hurt you."

"It's fine, Dean."

What was he supposed to say to that?

"I wish this was easier. I wish I knew what to do, how to fix it," he settled on. "I'm tired of hurting and I'm tired of you hurting and I don't want to see you like this anymore. You're a mess, Cas, and it breaks my heart. I hate feeling like this."

"I know the feeling," Cas said bitterly. He looked up suddenly, and Dean got caught like that, thinking. Cas' words were cycling through his head, and he wasn't sure why. But something was adding up, slowly, and it felt very strange.

"What do you mean, _you know the feeling_?" he asked after a long minute. "What's that mean, Cas?"

"It's how I've been feeling since I left. It hurt me to hurt you. You looked so broken and I couldn't fix you." Dean looked away, eyes circling the room. That was how he felt. He and Cas felt the same. That wouldn't have been weird or at all unusual, not a year and a half ago, but a year and a half ago Dean didn't know that Cas was in love with him. But he wasn't going to think about that. Well, he tried not to. The thought kept popping in, uninvited.

But he wasn't going to go there.

Too many thoughts were spinning around in his head, and the sense they were making was completely un-sensical. _This was not happening. This was not happening_. And it wasn't. Just like that. He looked up at Cas and drew his own conclusions, the ones he wanted to.

"I missed you," Dean said clearly. "I really fucking hated you not being there. I don't want you to leave again." It was almost too much, that admission. Too close to home. And maybe, if he were a different man, this would be the part where Dean would find that he loved Cas, and maybe they'd fall into bed, live happily ever after. But that wasn't them. Wasn't Dean. He didn't even hardly trust Cas enough to tell him he _missed_ him, let alone anything else. Not that there was anything else.

Dean looked away, almost ashamed. "Will you stay this time?"

"If you're inviting me back, then yes."

Without much thought, Dean reached out and pulled him into a rib-crushing hug. Damn, but he smelled like Cas. A little less Cas-y than Dean remembered, but that was cause it was Dean's smell that made up the difference. It would come back, though, once they settle back into their old life. It would happen. But it wouldn't be fast enough. Dean wanted it, all of it back, in that stretched-out taffy moment where everything he thought he'd never have again was in his grasp. He wanted Cas to smell like him again, to live with him again, to be with him again. That was all. Only everything. But that's the thing: Dean wasn't allowed to want everything; he could never have it.

* * *

><p>It wasn't with words that Dean pulled him to bed. He just guided him to the edge and started undressing him, setting his clothes on the other bed, the second one his room had because Lisa was in the honeymoon suite and her family was traditional enough to keep them separate the night before. Cas allowed himself to be stripped, let Dean do it even if he could do it himself just fine. When he was down to his underwear, Dean pushed the covers back and nudged him in, joined him a moment later.<p>

Lights out, Dean pulled Cas against him, horrified to realize that he'd almost forgotten the feeling. He had Lisa's waist memorized, but Cas, the simple feel of Cas, had gone. He hadn't even dared to think about it until he had him. Cas flipped over so they were chest to chest, their bellies almost touching.

"Nothing changes? Just the same as before?" Cas asked, voice low in the dark.

Dean thought about it for a moment. So now he knew that Cas was in love with him. But that was the thing - if Cas was always in love with him and it hadn't made anything weird before, it didn't matter. So now Dean knew that it was cruel to act the same way as they used to, but he didn't really care. The open wound of Cas leaving had a long way to go before it healed, so he'd take what he could get, even if it made him cruel.

"As long as it's okay with you," Dean said as an afterthought. Cas didn't respond verbally, but curled in a little closer, threaded a leg between Dean's, fit his face against the curve of Dean's neck, right where it used to fit, still fit. In all honesty, it couldn't be described as anything but snuggling, but Dean would go to his grave denying it. He needed it, needed comfort and Cas, too. Everything was falling apart and everything was coming together, and nothing was making sense. There was only one thing he could hold on to, and that was Cas.

Dean fell asleep faster than he had in a long, long time.


	23. Chapter 22

In the morning, Cas wasn't in bed. Dean could hear the shower running, so he stayed where he was, too lazy to drag himself into wakefulness. His eyes stayed shut. Sleep hovered at the edge of his consciousness, something he flirted with until the bathroom door opened. Dean peeked, he did, saw Cas with his towel-dried hair and shameless nudity, shut his eyes again. He could hear Cas dressing, trying to be as quiet as possible. After a minute or two, Dean's side of the bed sank down as Cas put his shoes on. Dean gave up on fake-sleep and scooted over to lie parallel to Cas' leg, his head was hanging over the side of the bed so he could look at him.

"You've changed soap and shampoo," Cas said, feeling around the pockets of his trenchcoat.

What he wanted to say was "the smell reminded me too much of you," but Dean didn't know how to say something he felt embarrassed admitting to himself. "I have the other stuff at home."

Cas nodded.

"Are you planning on leaving?" Dean asked, a little hurt, a little annoyed.

"I wasn't sure you'd want me here when you woke up."

"You're not a cuddle hook up, Cas. Lemme get dressed. We'll go get breakfast. I think the buffet downstairs is still open."

Cas just sat there while Dean rummaged through his bag and put on clothes (traveling clothes, since he and Lisa were supposed to leave this morning for the honeymoon, a two-week cruise in the Caribbean). Rubbing his jaw, Dean considered shaving, but decided that he didn't give a fuck. He looked at Cas, just sitting there and watching him, and felt a weird sort of comfort. It was familiar.

"You know, I gotta say, as far as weddings go, ours was definitely better." He felt guilty saying it because he missed Lisa, loved her even, but it was becoming startlingly clear that she was a stand-in. Yeah, their relationship was different, but they didn't have the same kind of bond he had with Cas. He probably could have been happy with her, after a while. Maybe when he'd forgotten Cas. Still, she didn't deserve it. She deserved a lot better than a husband who was hung up on his best friend. Well, platonically.

"For obvious reasons, I agree." Cas offered a little hint of a smile, and Dean clapped him on the shoulder.

"Come on. Let's go get some food."

* * *

><p>As they were walking to the elevator, Dean sent a text to Sam asking him if they wanted to meet for breakfast. It felt like the good old days. Granted, nothing could beat Gabriel's breakfasts, but still.<p>

When the doors slid closed, Dean got a weird urge to do something, nudge Cas or something. Stick his hands in his pockets. Touch him just to be sure he was there, because he could. Something stupid. But instead, he used his mouth, and where it took him was not somewhere he wanted to go.

"Are you really okay with this? I mean, I've never been in love with anyone, but I can imagine it, and it seems kinda tough. If it's too much, we can work something out, I suppose." Dean had no idea what he meant by that. Absolutely no idea. He wasn't going to let Cas just walk out again without a fight. Not in a million years.

"I'm fine."

And Dean felt like he'd killed something beautiful, like he was destroying everything he could get his hands on. It was a tragedy, everything gone wrong and made ugly and sad. He didn't see how a person could be happy if they loved someone who didn't love them back the same way, didn't see how Cas could ever be happy with him, but if he wasn't leaving, it didn't matter. Well, it mattered, and Dean knew it did, wanted to yell and throw things because they couldn't just have something happy and normal where everyone got what they wanted and no one got left behind, but his wasn't that kind of life. Things didn't work out.

In a perfect world, Dean would love Cas completely, but perfect worlds didn't exist. There was just Dean, just Cas, and a whole lot of things that could be better.

* * *

><p>In the breakfast line, Dean checked his phone and saw that Sam and Gabriel were already sitting somewhere with food. After piling his plate high, he took Cas to go find them. They were in a corner at a four-person table. Upon seeing Cas, Sam raised his eyebrows and looked at Gabriel pointedly. Dean rolled his eyes.<p>

"We didn't sleep together," he said, almost liking the feeling of familiarity he got from saying those words. It had been a long time since he'd been able to deny sleeping with a man, and it was kind of nice. Familiar. Not that he'd ever admit it to anyone.

"Then what's going on? Are you taking it slow or something?"

Dean shook his head. "We're just picking up where we left off, going back to normal." He shrugged. "I think we should leave today. There's nothing to stick around for. Might as well head back."

"You do realize you're running away, right?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't think Lisa particularly wants to see me right now. I'm not about to get in her way."

"She said she'd call you, when she's ready," Cas said softly. Dean nodded, knowing that when it came, it would be one hell of an awkward phone call.

"I don't think this is exactly healthy," Sam said. "I mean, Dean, you do remember our phone call last night, don't you?"

"Yeah, I wasn't that drunk."

"So how exactly do you think this thing is going to work, knowing that he's in love with you?" Dean was pretty sure Cas was glaring at Sam, best he could tell from his peripheral.

"It's going to work just fine. Nothing's any different. What, do you want me to be uncomfortable about it? Cause I'm not. There's no reason for to be. Don't mess this up, Sam."

"Sometimes I feel like you're never going to figure it out."

Dean slammed his fist into the table. "For crying out loud, Sam! I don't have a thing for him! I'm not repressing anything! Pull your head out of your ass already. He's only been back a day, and you're already turning into a total douchenozzle." He sighed. "Look, I'm leaving today. If you stop being such an idiot, you can come, or you can fly back. Take your pick."

* * *

><p>An hour later, they were on the road, and as the asphalt unfolded miles and miles ahead of them, it started to feel less like running away and more like going home.<p>

* * *

><p>Dean felt a little weird, crossing the threshold with Cas. It was like they'd gone on this long, incredible journey and now it was time to rest. To come home. Dean hadn't spent a lot of time at the apartment since Lisa; it had been easier that way. He didn't want Cas to see his room, though. It had turned into a crypt, a room for dead memories and misery, and the idea of Cas seeing it, seeing what remained of how very fucked up Dean had been after he left, that made him nervous. But Cas went straight to his room, out of habit maybe, and Dean followed close behind. Cas sat on the bed, looked at the spots of dried blood on and around his pillow, the dusty, empty bottles of whiskey on the bedside table, the hole in the wall, and then he looked at Dean. It was more than an apology - it was secondhand grief and hollow guilt and a plea for forgiveness. It was <em>I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry<em>, but a little different each time, like he was going through the whole spectrum of apologies.

"I don't think we really need this room anymore," Dean says, his voice dry and cracking and rough. He hated that room. That room was nothing more than a collection of things that made him want to tear his skin off.

Cas followed him into his room, their room, and they set their bags on the bed before stopping, standing. Dean thought they'd had a lot of those sorts of moments, where they looked at each other and they weren't really sure if they should move away or move closer, so they just stayed there, paralyzed by indecision and curiosity.

Somehow, they ended up on the couch, watching the movies they used to watch. Dean wanted to say how much he loved it, wanted to just tell Cas every minute that he'd been more lost than he'd realized without him, but it wasn't going to happen. Dean didn't do that whole declaration thing. Not his style. Still, he was happier than he'd been in what felt like years, and he wasn't going to give it up any time soon.

* * *

><p>Three Months Later<p>

* * *

><p>It took a week or so to really get back into the swing of things. Cas' old room was cleaned out, the entire apartment made liveable again. Rachael paid them a brief visit, ending in Cas leaving for a week and a half. It felt like losing him all over again, but he came back, and with him, a bit of trust. They had to put their relationship back together again, and it was uncomfortable for a while, tense, but it happened in familiar dinners, in their shared bed, in Saturday morning breakfasts at the bakery with Sam and Gabriel. Forgiveness and trust took a few weeks to rebuild, but Dean worked at it and Cas worked at it until they were whole again.<p>

Still, Dean figured out pretty quickly that having a girlfriend had had its benefits. Namely, sex. Sure, with Lisa, it wasn't like he was getting laid all day every day, but the sudden loss of any sort of sex was starting to get frustrating. With Cas sleeping with him, he couldn't really jerk off any more. It was annoying, not like it had been before, where he'd been used to his dry spell, when he was mostly fine with it. And it was getting uncomfortable. Waking up a little excited was awkward when he slept next to someone who he didn't want to help him out with it. Not something he wanted to keep doing.

He needed to get laid. Simple as that.

But it was like he was still in monogamy mode. There was a mental block in place that kept telling him not to look at women, and it was pissing him off. There was no reason for it. Still, his sex drive wouldn't let him rest. Made him conjure up faceless bodies in his dreams, and it was goddamn uncomfortable.

Maybe it was because of this that he didn't react the right way that night.

He came home from work in the late afternoon, very much not expecting at least half of what was going on in the living room. Cas had a movie on, sitting on the couch. Sitting next to the waitress from their diner. Fucking Meg. _What the fuck?_

"Uh, Cas?" Cas looked up and paused the movie.

"Hello, Dean. I imagine Meg's presence is something of a mystery. Why don't you sit down?" Cas got up and went to the kitchen while Dean sat at the opposite end of the couch from her. It had been a while, sure, but he still had a deep dislike for her.

Cas came back, handed them each a beer, and pulled the ottoman in front of them so he could face them both.

"Dean, I love you. You know this, I know this, everyone knows it. You seem to be perfectly fine with it, for which I'm grateful, but, as I'm sure you can understand, it's a less-than-preferable situation for me. I would like to begin the process of moving on, emotionally, but I came to the conclusion that it would be easier to start with physical matters." He faced Meg. "As we discussed, you have a sexual interest in me and an open mind. I think we should fornicate."

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Wait, Cas, I don't think this is a good idea. You don't know what you're getting into, and you don't know her. Don't do this."

"That's why you're here," Cas said, fixing him with a level stare. "I realized that I could not have such an encounter without you realizing it, and if I didn't tell you, you would be upset, and if I informed you of it beforehand, you would be against the idea, so I found a compromise: be here. I would feel more comfortable if you were present, and I think you would be much less concerned if you could oversee the proceedings."

"What exactly are you suggesting?" Dean asked, stomach churning.

"You need not participate any more than you want." He looked at Meg. "You still have no objection?"

"Nah. I'm always up for a Devil's Threeway."

"Wait, so, do you want me to be _involved_-involved?" Dean asked. The whole thing was making him nervous, but the thing was, Meg was hot, and the idea of sex just sitting in his living room was awfully tempting.

"If that is what you wish. I know you've had a problem with abstinence."

Dean sighed, let his head fall into his hands. "Dammit. I know I should've never let you watch Chasing Amy."

"Dean, I would never have you do anything you don't want to do. You can say no, but I am still interested in attempting a sexual encounter."

"Attempting?"

"The other benefit of your presence," Cas said softly. "I've never been attracted to anyone but you. Your presence might...ease things." Oh shit, man. That was pretty much the greatest sex-related thing anyone had said to him, even if it did come from Cas and was therefore said in a pretty ass-backwards way. "I also do not know precisely how to do what is expected. You, on the other hand, have plenty of experience."

"I...Okay. Okay, yeah, I'll do it." Dean knew, had this really, really strong feeling that he was making a huge mistake, but he didn't care. It didn't matter. He'd do this for Cas, this one thing, and maybe it would help. Cas could start finding happiness. Besides, it was kind of fitting that he be there when Cas finally lost his v-card.

"How do you boys wanna start?" Meg asked, then finished off her beer. "We doing this in here?"

"Yes," Cas said at the same time Dean said "yeah". There was no way she'd come anywhere near their bed.

"I'm not drunk enough for this," Dean decided. He went to the kitchen and found the bottle of whiskey he kept under the sink. He just started drinking and drinking and drinking. The faster the alcohol hit him, the better.

* * *

><p>A little while later, when Dean found that his balance was a little off, he went back into the room, threw his jacket over the back of the couch.<p>

"Let's get this show on the road before I change my mind," he said gruffly, stretching his neck a little.

"Fine with me," Meg said. She stood and unzipped her leather jacket, revealing that she wasn't wearing anything underneath. Her breasts were nice, Dean noticed, slightly larger than Lisa's. Not so bad, but her personality was kind of putting him off.

Cas looked between the two of them and got up. "Should we ease into it?" he asked. Even though the background was a blur, Dean could tell that he was nervous.

"Good idea." He shrugged. "Go on and kiss'er, then." Cas nodded and slid a hand into Meg's hair.

Dean watched them make out for a while, rage building inside of him. It wasn't right. Cas shouldn't be with anyone. No one. If he was gonna be with anyone at all, it should be Dean, at least, not this demon of a woman.

With that in mind, Dean pulled Cas away from her and met him at the mouth. Things got hazy between his stubble and his wild hands, the slick press of his tongue. It was good, yeah, he was into it, _all _of him was into it, and that was the problem. It was too easy, and the alcohol was to blame. That wasn't how it should be. Cas shouldn't be with someone who had to get drunk to kiss him, who didn't love him like that sober. It wasn't right. Dean wasn't right for him.

"No, no. Can't do this," Dean said, pushing himself away. He wiped his mouth. "I'm sorry. I love you, but not like this." He stumbled off to their room, the taste of Cas heavy in his mouth. The bed welcomed him. As he started to undress, he realized that he was still buzzing, still hard, too turned on to rest. Head swimming, he took himself in hand and finished himself off quickly, bitterness overwhelming the thrill of his orgasm too quickly for it to have meant anything. After he wiped himself off, he turned over and let sleep take him, feeling horrible and weak.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Dean woke to Cas' breathing beneath his cheek. It felt like a hundred other mornings, but with a slight headache. He didn't want to get up, but he had the feeling that he didn't deserve to stay in bed. That he'd done something horribly wrong. Yeah, he was at fault for something, but he wasn't sure what. Slowly, he started to remember the night before and winced internally. He remembered with painful clarity that he'd kissed Cas and ran, but he had no idea what happened after that. What Cas did. If Cas fucked her. He better not have fucked her.<p>

Fingers slid through his hair gently, stroked it with a sort of mid-morning idleness.

"What happened last night?" Dean asked softly. He knew he couldn't handle hearing that Cas fucked her. Just couldn't do it.

"I asked Meg to leave after you came in here. I found I couldn't go through with it." His voice reverberated through his chest when he spoke. Dean found it comforting.

"Why not?"

"I thought I could make it about myself, but I couldn't make it stop being about you. Always has been. I'm sorry. I tried."

Dean sighed. "You know, in another life, I think we could've made this work so that we'd both be happy. I bet we could've."

"No," Cas said with certainty. "I don't think it ever could have worked." Dean moved around so he could look at Cas. There was no way he could be so hopeless.

"Why not?"

"Would you not call this domesticity? We could have been born in the Middle Ages, or the opposite sides of a war. We could have been on opposite sides of the world, spoken different languages, not even been human. Out of all of the possible lives we could have had, this one is one of the easiest, one of the best one could have hoped for, and still, neither of us can be happy while the other is. I think this is what you might call 'as good as it gets'. I don't think we were meant for mutual happiness."

Dean didn't know what to do about that. He had to believe that somehow, somewhere, they could be happy. There had to be hope.

He settled into the crook of Cas' shoulder, then wormed his face into his neck, finding that Cas really needed to shave. He smelled the way he should, though, that mix of them that always smelled right. As he, admittedly, nuzzled, Dean realized that it wasn't fair at all. He hadn't realized it until that moment because it was the first time it had ever been that way, but they were unbalanced and Dean was coming out on top. He was perfectly fine while Cas suffered. Cas only got half the things he wanted, while Dean had everything, absolutely everything, and it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all. That wasn't how a relationship, whatever the nature of it, was supposed to work. They were supposed to be on even ground. Normally, it was Dean who was giving and giving with not enough in return, but Cas was doing that for him now, and Dean knew how much it sucked. It wasn't right.

Christmas was in three weeks, and Dean was going to give Cas the best present he could.


	24. Chapter 23

In the end, Dean found a lot of stuff to give Cas. Some of it was little stuff, stuff that Dean had just picked up that he wanted, even vaguely. Pointless stuff. It wasn't really that he was trying to buy Cas' affection or anything, he just wanted to show him that he appreciated him being around. That was all.

* * *

><p>A week before Christmas, Lisa called. Dean's breath stopped when he first saw the name on his caller ID, but he decided to be a mature adult for once in his life and answer.<p>

"Hey."

"Dean? It's Lisa."

"Yeah. I...How are you doing? How's Ben?"

"I'm fine, Ben's fine. I want you to know...I'm not mad." Her voice managed to sound warm even through the phone. "We should talk, and Ben misses you, in his own way. I mean, I do, too, it's just...Would you like to come over for Christmas? We're having a little dinner. You know, nothing big."

"That sounds really nice, it does, but Sam and Gabriel were planning on coming over. Do you guys wanna join us here? You're welcome to come over, too," he said, "I mean it-It would be nice to see each other again."

"Sounds good. I mean, as long as we aren't intruding or anything."

"Nah, it'll be great. We'd love to have you."

"Alright, well, thanks. I'll go tell Ben. He'll be excited. See ya."

"Yeah, see ya, Lise." Dean hung up and looked at his phone, contemplating what he'd just done. "I probably shouldn't have done that." He hadn't even asked Cas.

"The table has a leaf, and Sam and Gabriel have extra chairs. I don't see a problem." Cas, sitting at his laptop, offered a little shrug. Dean remembered that he was the best friend in the universe, and grinned a little to himself.

* * *

><p>When Dean and Cas came home from a comfortable dinner at the diner on Christmas Eve, Dean was a little nervous. Sam and Gabriel had put Dean's first present for Cas in place while they were out. Christmas music was playing on their speaker system, partially to cover up any sounds his present might make.<p>

"Okay, so, when Sam and I managed to find presents before too late on Christmas Eve, we used to let each other open one present that night. So, I have something for you."

Cas smiled, warmly surprised.

"So, uh, why don't you sit on the couch, cover your eyes. I'll be right out with it."

Dean shuffled off to the extra bedroom, and hoped the present hadn't made a mess. He opened the door to find the golden retriever puppy curled up on the bed. It jumped up when it saw Dean and hopped down, yapping a little. Dean was sure that Cas heard, but oh well. He'd be a good sport about it anyway. Dean scooped up the puppy in his arms, batting the gigantic red bow Sam and Gabriel had tied around its neck out of his face. The thing really was pretty damn cute. And one day, he'd be a big, capable, masculine dog, so it was the best of both worlds.

Cas sat obediently with his hands over his eyes. Dean found the sight kind of sweet, but that was probably just the Christmas spirit getting to him.

"Alright, you can open your eyes," Dean said, standing in front of them. Cas pulled his hands away, and stared at the puppy for a moment with curious look. Then, slowly, a wide smile spread across his face. It was kind of adorable; Cas never smiled like that, not since the day they got married.

"Do you wanna hold him? I think he's gonna like you."

"I don't know how," Cas said, eyes still alight in wonder. Dean showed him how to hold the little thing without hurting it, and pretty much died at the sight of Cas holding the puppy. It sort of poked him with its paw, then licked Cas' cheek. The face he made was just priceless. Dean wanted to take a picture. Hell, he should have made a video. It was too precious.

"What'd'ya wanna name him?" Dean asked when the cute became a little too much.

"I have no idea. What is a suitable name for a dog?"

"I dunno. Just something you like."

"I suppose it would be confusing if I named him 'Dean'," Cas said, examining the pup as if in his eyes could be found his true name. The idea that Cas immediately thought of Dean when he said "something you like" was pretty endearing. "But I tend to like things that you like. I don't know...is Pie a suitable name for a dog?." Dean looked at the dog for a moment, the soft puppy scruff around his face, the chubbiness. It could work.

Dean laughed. "Okay, that's _definitely_ not naming him after something _you_ like, but let's go with it. Pie. How do you like that, big guy?" He rubbed the puppy's head. "I think he likes it."

They played with the dog, their dog, for an hour before he got tired and curled up in Cas' lap. Dean got the little plushy bed from the spare room, set it next to the tree. Pie tucked himself up on it and set his head on his huge paws. Dean put on a movie: Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, _his_ favorite Christmas-y movie, but Sam and Gabriel had vetoed it when they'd voted on a movie for actual Christmas night on the basis of too much violence. If that meant he got to watch it with just Cas, well, he wasn't too upset.

* * *

><p>When the credits started rolling and Dean turned off the TV, Cas started to shift uncomfortably. Dean gave him a questioning look, and he rubbed his hands on his slacks.<p>

"Dean, I don't know which gift to give you tonight. I hadn't planned on singling out any in particular."

"Nah, it's okay. Don't worry about it. Actually, I have a second gift." This was the one Dean was nervous about, the only gift that made him uncomfortable, but also the only gift he really wanted to give that year. He sure as hell wasn't ready to give it, but he was ready as he'd ever be.

"Dean, there's no need-"

"No, there is. This one, there is. Tomorrow would just be weird timing, so it's gotta be tonight." He sighed heavily. "I've been thinking about _this_. About you and me, and it's not fair. It's not, and I want to make it right. I mean, you're giving everything and I'm just...not. You're worth more than that. So, I just. I wanna meet you halfway, if that makes sense. I can't give you everything because I don't have it to give, but I'll give you what I can."

"I don't understand."

Dean took a deep breath and took the plunge - he leaned forward and pressed a gentle, yet determined kiss against the curve of Cas' mouth. It only lasted a few seconds before he pulled away, a little nervous, restless.

"I can give you that. Things like that." He shifted, looking away. "I don't know if I could go all the way. I mean, I don't know if I'll be able to- you know. But I'll give you what I can." Cas shot up from his seat like a bullet, pacing in front of Dean, a hand tugging at his hair. He looked angry. He looked wild. He looked like he was falling apart. Dean wasn't sure what he'd said that was so wrong, and he was about to ask, but then Cas stopped and looked at him, anger giving his gaze a paralyzing immensity.

"I don't want your charity, or your guilt, or your best effort, Dean. I just want _you_. I want you wholly and completely and yes, I would like part of that to be you wanting me, but it isn't the most important thing. It doesn't mean a thing if you don't mean it. You either love me or you don't; there is no middle ground, and I am content with that. I thought you understood that; you don't owe me anything." He shook his head, pressing his lips together angrily. "I can't do this, Dean. I just wish I could show you...but I can't. I'd like it if we could pretend the past few minutes didn't occur."

Dean stood, putting them on level ground. "Look, I can't just keep going knowing that you have feelings for me, that you're here even if it might hurt you. I feel like I'm doing something terrible, and I've ignored it and pushed it away, but it isn't just going away. We're going to figure this out."

"What, exactly, does that mean to you? What was your plan here? What, do I have kissing privileges? If I look particularly despondent, do I get to touch your cheek? Is that what you think I want?" Oh, but he looked like he was going out in blaze of glory, all wildfire and rage, and Dean wasn't sure how to put this particular fire out. "I don't want you to give me permission to kiss you; I want you to ask me to because you want it, and that's the problem: I don't think you even know what it is to want it. I don't think you understand. I just want you to understand what it is to me."

"Then show me. Kiss me. I want it." Dean wasn't sure what made him say it, but he knew it wasn't true, and it still came out anyway.

"You're lying," Cas said in a low voice, but he took a step towards Dean, got right into his personal space. "But I'll give you what you asked for so that you may understand. This will be the only time I do this knowing that you don't want me to, you have my word." Cas' hands settled on his face, fingertips gliding across Dean's cheeks. Something about it was reverent in a way no one had been with him before, like he was something worthy of an almost religious sort of love. Cas' thumbs lightly brushed the fans of his eyelashes with such a gentle touch that Dean's mouth fell open a little. It would have been sort of embarrassing if it weren't for the look in Cas' eyes. But he didn't have much time to think about it. Cas' face closed in like he was going to go for it, but he paused. He turned his head a little, trying to figure out the right angle, his lips hovering just a breath away, and Dean couldn't do it, the teasing. He needed to wham and bam, just do it, not be at the mercy of hesitation. It was sweet, though, to think that Cas was trying to make it perfect, but it was driving him crazy.

Dean didn't have to wait too long, though, before Cas landed the kiss that had been hanging in the air between them. The thing was, after the hesitant build up, Dean was expecting gentle, he was expecting timid, but that wasn't what he got. He got Cas' hands searching for a purchase in his hair, his body edging him backwards towards the couch, and mostly, the confident drag of a tongue across his own. Cas' mouth was refusing to surrender, pulling out all the stops, taking no prisoners. The heat of his kiss was something scorching and remorseless. A firestorm. It took any and all oxygen from Dean's lungs and left him lightheaded and reeling, forced to search for something to ground him in Cas' mouth, and then he fell into it.

It stopped being about kissing a man, then. It stopped being about anything but Cas.

Because yeah, he loved Cas, in all ways but this, even though _this_ was starting to sink in as something he liked. Frankly, Dean wasn't used to kisses making him lose himself. Maybe it was just for a moment, but he wanted more, wanted everything Cas had to offer with his lips and tongue, wanted to burst into flame from it.

Dean's calves hit the seat of the couch, so he got a firm hold on Cas' neck and pulled them both down to it. One of Cas' knees slid between Dean's legs like it knew exactly what it was doing, and somehow their limbs ended up tangled, but their mouths never separated, mostly because Dean couldn't let it happen. If it was going to be a one-time thing, he wasn't going to let it end yet, not until he passed out from oxygen deprivation or dehydration or something. Cas' mouth felt like it fit against his, like between his lips lay the key to salvation. Dean simply _wanted_ it, wanted _him_, and that thought almost made him pull away, that in that moment he direly wanted Cas for the first real time.

But it wasn't the first time, just the first time he'd made the connection between _turned on_ and _Cas _without alcohol or excuses. There were just the facts of Dean's pulse humming beneath his skin, his body gone hot and feral, his cock hardening almost too quickly in his jeans. It was the only missing link in their relationship: it always went that Dean wasn't attracted to Cas, but that was being proven so _very_, very wrong, and that was the end of it. There were no more obstacles in their way.

When Cas' knee shifted a little, pressed in towards Dean's crotch, Dean arched against him, then jerked back, embarrassed. Their lips were still touching just slightly, slick and buzzing with heat, with energy. Dean sucked Cas' lower lip into his mouth, then angled his head and licked inside, meeting Cas' tongue in a rush. He would do it forever if he could, if he never wanted more. But he definitely wanted more. _Enough_ was quickly turning into a relative concept, something flexible that was bending between the force of them.

But the question was_: How far would Dean be willing to go? _

Dean needed to think to answer that question, so he tried to pull away, but couldn't bring himself to put real space between them. He ended up mouthing at Cas' stubble, trying to learn the feel of it beneath his lips, the way the rough skin scraped against swollen lips in a way that felt nice. They were woven together, anyway, so it wasn't like he could have gotten far.

"I know I'm misinterpreting this situation, but it's beginning to seem like you want me. I think we should stop this." Cas started to disentangle himself, but Dean grabbed his shirt in his fist and held him in place.

"We're not done here. Not yet."

Cas settled and sighed against him, ending up pressing against Dean in a way that was a little distracting. "I don't understand what you mean."

"I want you," Dean said plainly, his voice a little rough from the pressure, just shy of enough.

"I don't believe you." Dean took Cas' hand from his shoulder and pressed it against the hardness in his jeans. If he ground into the touch a little, well, it only proved his point. He'd pretend it had nothing to do with need, though why, he wasn't sure.

His other hand slid around to the back of Cas' neck. "I don't know how else to prove it to you. I. Want. You. You gotta believe me."

"You're confused. You've never wanted me before."

"What, you think this isn't the first time I got a boner because of you?" It was only because it all felt surreal, like someone else's life, that Dean was even able to make such connections. "Bachelor party, for one, a few weeks ago when you had fucking Meg over, and pretty much a million other times. I always played it off as something else, but fact is, you're hot as fuck, and I'm pretty sure that as of late, I've mostly stopped minding that you've got a dick. Hell, if I'd had a few more drinks, I probably would have tried to sleep with you that other night. Let me tell you, Meg would've been pretty lonely. So can we stop this whole _you don't want me_ thing? We haven't even gotten to the good parts." He wiggled his eyebrows, suggestive of what, exactly, he meant by _the good parts_.

Cas looked at him hard, searching his face. "I don't think I can do this." He got up quickly, looking like a wounded animal. "I'm sorry. I don't know how to believe you."

Stunned by anger, Dean watched him walk away for a moment before he was on his feet, catching up with Cas at the opening to the hallway. Cas must not have been expecting it because Dean was able to spin and shove him against the wall, meet his mouth in a bruising kiss. It was a little more forceful than necessary, but Dean didn't give a flying fuck. He just wanted Cas' mouth, hot and heady against his own, and the solid heat of his body. Determined fingers found Cas' buttons, pushed them through the holes. When Dean got to the bottom, Cas' hands gripped his wrists, and he pushed Dean away forcefully.

"You're confused." He looked so damn sorry, but his mouth was swollen and bruised, Dean's fault, and that just made him want to kiss Cas again.

"I'm not," he said, shrugging off his flannel. His shirt followed, dropping to the floor, and when he met Cas' eyes again, he looked angry.

"_Stop this_, Dean. You're acting like a child. You don't know what you want."

"Yeah? Well, you're right. I don't know what I want at all." Dean pressed in closer, getting right in his face. "I don't know if I want you against this wall or on the couch or in our bed or on the table or on the counter or in the shower or on the fucking floor like we're animals, slaves to our own lust. Well, to be honest, I don't know which I want first, because we're going to end up breaking in everything in this apartment soon enough, I promise." Dean pulled Cas' shirt tails out of his pants, tried to shove it down his shoulders, but got pushed away.

"You don't have to pretend to want this for me," he hissed. "I'll never want you like that."

"Fine, you know what? I'm gonna phone a friend and we'll settle this." Dean pulled out his phone and speed-dialed Sam, hitting the speaker phone. He picked up on the last ring.

"Dammit, Dean, this better be good. Kinda in the middle of something-"

"Do I want to fuck Cas?"

"Uh, _duh_. I tell you so every day. Why-"

"On a scale of one to ten, how much, would you say, do I want to fuck him?"

"I feel uncomfortable answering that. Lemme get Gabriel." There was some movement and Sam relayed the question.

"Dude, that shit's turned up to eleven. Go have sex instead of interrupting people trying to do the same." Gabriel hung up, leaving Dean a little skeeved, but not entirely put off.

"See? It's not just me. Everyone knows we want to bang each other. Get over it and let's do something about it."

"I don't want to have sex with you because you think we're _supposed_ to have sex because everyone wants us to. That's not why-"

"_Cas_. I love you. I always have. Platonically, but yeah, I have. And, okay, let's be honest: we have a bit of a romantic relationship. Them's facts. And sure, I've been kind of hung up on the fact that you're a dude, but I'm starting to think that doesn't matter. I've always been kind of attracted to you, but I didn't like to think about it, I hated it, but I'm starting to get how totally stupid that was, alright? But I'm _trying_ to get over myself, so do me a favor and do the same."

"I just...I don't want you to resent me for this after the fact."

Dean moved in, slid a hand into the soft hair near the base of Cas' skull. "I won't. I swear. It's not going to happen."

"I'd be far more comfortable with this if you would ponder it longer. I think you're rushing this decision." Dean sighed, growing exhausted. This was a million miles off from how he'd thought the night would go, but he'd wait for Cas if he had to. He'd try to be a little patient, even if it meant ignoring Dean Jr.

"Fine. One hour. I'll think about it for one hour. That's the most you're going to get out of me."

"That sounds like a satisfactory compromise, but I'd rather you didn't drink any alcohol in the course of that hour."

"Whatever." Dean shook his head. "This is stupid. Anyone else would just sleep with me."

"I care for you more than anyone else," he said simply. "I'm going to go to our room. You should have some space."

Dean watched him go, pissed. Still, he was a little bit less raring to go by that point, but he didn't want to think. Not really his thing.

* * *

><p>He ended up in the car, finding an interstate, and just driving. Driving always helped him think. And he would do it, if only because Cas wanted him to. Always was kind of crap at saying no to him.<p>

It really was a mess, though.

Maybe Cas was right about him needing to think. It was kind of crazy, the idea of Dean wanting to fuck him. Well, okay, it was more than that. He wanted Cas to be happy, really really wanted it, and if that was kissing him, Dean didn't mind at all. And if meant doing more than that, Dean was starting to get into the idea. It wasn't like Cas wasn't good-looking, and more than that, Dean was definitely, at this point, attracted to him. Sometimes when he saw him, he just thought _I want that_, and he'd pushed it down, but now that Dean was thinking about it, it felt like he'd thought that a lot.

He tried it. Tried thinking of Cas naked, of him looking at him with that deep, soul-scraping look he got, eyes dark and filled with something. Of ages ago, when Cas' voice went deep as he told Dean how he could fuck him senseless, how sometimes when he jerked off, he heard that voice on accident and pretended he didn't. Cas was strong and unwavering, and he'd most certainly be that in bed, and for the first time, Dean thought that that was what he wanted. More than that, though, Cas would never do anything to hurt him. He was safe, completely safe. Dean could trust him. Trust him to hold him down and only do the things that he'd like, and he was so determined in everything he did, there was no way he wouldn't figure out the art of giving head quick. God, he'd be so good, that mouth and those hands, and-

Dean realized at the flash of a pair of headlights that he was palming himself through his jeans and paying way too little attention to the road.

Well, it looked like he was definitely attracted to Cas. That was the only thing missing in the first place - they basically had a fully-functioning marriage, minus the sex. They went on dates, they cuddled on the couch, they spooned at night, they had breakfast together, and hell, they had the certificate to prove it. It was just Dean being too much of a stubborn asshole, making it basically impossible for them to get it on like a normal couple. And, okay, honesty time: Dean wasn't necessarily the straightest spoon in the drawer. He had a bit of a fascination with Dr. Sexy and was maybe a little too interested in the fact that Iron Man and Captain America were totally boning each other when the rest of the Avengers weren't looking, and hey, it wouldn't be too bad if the Avengers sequel talked about that a little more. But that was really it. It was mostly just Cas, stupid, beautiful Cas who really needed to get with the program. Yeah, Dean wanted him, wanted him more than he wanted Lisa or any of the girls he'd fucked in the past, and he was damn well gonna get him.

* * *

><p>The needle didn't dip below the speed limit the entire ride home.<p> 


	25. Chapter 24

**So, I'm going away for my computer for a while, and I figured it would be a jerk move to just leave y'all hanging, so I'm going to post the rest of the story today. **

**In the meantime, here, have a porn chapter. (the next chapter isn't, but it may seem like it at first.)**

* * *

><p>Dean threw open the front door like it had personally offended him. The puppy woke up at the sound, and he gave it a little pat on the head before heading into the bedroom and closing the door closed behind him.<p>

Cas was sitting on the bed, reading. When Dean came in, he closed the book and set it aside. His eyes were calm, but hopeful. His shirt was buttoned again, but he'd taken his shoes and socks off; Dean was grateful that he'd removed at least a few obstacles.

"You know, I'd hoped you'd break out the sexy lingerie, but I guess I was getting my hopes up." Dean smirked, going into flirt mode, not that he needed it, not with Cas.

"Have you made a decision?"

Dean unbuttoned his flannel shirt. "Yep." He reached the last button and paused. "I want you in about ten million ways, the most important being a whole lot closer."

Cas stood up, walking towards him hesitantly. "Are you sure? This is what you really want?"

"I want you to touch me, and I want to touch you. It's pretty simple." Cas' hands crept forward and settled on his hips, guided him a little closer. They felt like they were meant to be there.

"I can't say I'm bothered by your decision," Cas said softly, a breath away. He pressed soft, light kisses to Dean's cheekbones, brow, nose, chin, finally leaving one on his lips, like it was the bow on a neatly-wrapped present. Their noses bumped, and Cas nudged them together. Dean opened his eyes to find that Cas' were staring at him like he was something incredible, something almost perfect. Something worthy of love.

Cas' fingers found the bottom of Dean's t-shirt and pulled it over his head, kissing him softly as it fell to the floor. It was more of a tease than anything else, only a hint of tongue before he pulled away again. Dean took the chase, the challenge, and pulled his face in closer, slotted their mouths together. Cas accepted the kiss for a moment, accepted it with gratitude, but put a little space between them to fit a few words in. His palm slid up Dean's chest until it found his shoulder, sealing itself neatly over the scar.

"I've always wondered what you told the women you slept with, about this."

"I lied."

Cas smiled a little, pressing the curve of his mouth against Dean's cheek. "Did you let them touch it? I expect the urge for them must have been strong. I've always found it nearly impossible to resist."

"Never. It was always yours. I never knew why, but it was. It was for you, for us, not for them." Dean pressed his hand over Cas', slipping his fingers in between.

"Would you have let me touch it?"

"Yes." Dean thought it might have sped things along in their current direction. "I mean, we _are_ married. And we cuddle more than is normal. Intimacy is one of those things we got down. Anyway, it's yours. I'm yours."

Cas' lips found his in a fever. It was devouring sort of kiss, not the kind Dean was used to, not just lust-driven, but love-driven, possession-driven. The force of it landed him on the bed, sent him from zero to sixty in no time. Well, more like sixty to a hundred fifty, but that was beside the point. He was trying to grind up against Cas' thigh like he was in heat or something, desperate and so far past the point of giving a fuck that not a single thing mattered. Nothing but the fact that finally, Cas was just taking his mouth like it was even something capable of being taken. Hell, Dean supposed that it was.

Dean edged his mouth away only so he could focus properly on getting Cas' shirt buttons undone, but that failed when Cas started on his neck, sucking hard enough that he was surely leaving a mark. Dean gave up and just yanked and pulled until the remaining buttons popped off. The rest of the process of getting his shirt off took far longer than necessary, but Dean was distracted. Clearly. Thinking was a bit difficult between Cas' mouth and exploring hands, but he managed to twist his fingers into Cas' hair and pull him away so he could talk.

"I want this to be different," he said roughly, looking Cas dead in the eyes. "It is already, but I don't want to cheapen it by doing something I could do with some chick, because that's not who you are and I love that. I want you to understand that. I don't want you to be able to convince yourself that I was thinking of anyone but you. It's only you."

Cas opened his mouth to speak, but Dean covered it with his hand.

"To be clear for you, I want you to fuck me, alright? Just so we're on the same page." Cas licked his hand, but not the way Sam used to when they were kids and Dean tried to shut him up. It was slow and damn, if it didn't have Dean ready to burst through his jeans. It was starting to hurt, how tight they were.

Cas pulled his hand away gently, kissing it softly. "Thank you, Dean. I...your trust, it means more than I can say." Dean found the button on his slacks and got to work on taking them off. He had to take a second to breathe, though, because though he was conscious of the fact that they shared clothes way more than most roommates did, that their wardrobe was more of a communal thing where they wore whatever fit, it was surprisingly really fucking hot that Cas was totally wearing his underwear; all the underwear that technically belonged to Cas were boxers, and he was definitely currently looking at briefs.

"Jesus," Dean panted, fingers skimming the thick line of his cock. "You should wear these more often. Not only does your ass probably look fantastic in these, but I'm about to cream my pants at the idea of you wearing them right now."

"You like them?" His voice was breathy and low. "I only wear them because it's the closest I could ever get to feeling you in them. Is that strange?"

"I don't fucking care if it is because it's the hottest thing I've ever heard." Dean kissed him messily out of a need to taste him, close some of the space between them. He was going to burn out of his skin if he didn't.

"I sometimes touch myself in them."

"Oh, fuck," Dean hissed, biting his lip. "That's it, lay down. On your back." Cas did as he was told, laying himself out so Dean could see almost all of him. Jesus, how he'd never understood that he wanted this was a complete fucking mystery. There were so many things he wanted to do to the body in front of him, so many dirty, beautiful things.

He pulled off Cas' slacks and underwear in a blur, finally getting him naked, and god, what a sight it was. Any doubts about not being too interested in dick were completely erased. Shit, Dean's mouth was totally hanging open and maybe he was even salivating a little at the utter vision that was Cas' dick, flushed and arched towards his belly, looking both innocuous and perfect. It was the first time he'd ever seen him aroused, too, and something about that almost seemed weird, like that shouldn't be the case, but they were in the business of making up for lost time.

Dean slid between Cas' legs, thinking of what this was like from the other end, that still, calm anticipation of what was to come. The fact that that turned him on was kind of weird, but he was gonna run with it.

"Look, I'm sorry if I'm not really good at this," Dean said, licking his lips. He was starting to really wish that he'd learned how to suck cock in preparation for this moment, which was a little bit hilarious, considering that he'd have pretty much zero interest in doing it to anyone else.

"You couldn't be anything less than perfect." Cas sounded a little broken, arousal so heavy in his voice, Dean couldn't do anything other than lean forward and take the hot head of his cock in his mouth. Cas made a desperate little noise above him when Dean ran his tongue across the slit, like he knew he liked, licking the little bit of pre-come into his mouth. Yeah, he'd tasted himself when he was much younger, but he found he didn't mind it now. Kind of liked it, actually, but then, he was getting distracted. He wasn't going to do anything less than his best here because Cas deserved it, more than anyone.

Dean took more in his mouth, trying to see how much of the slick, hot length he could take at once. His gag reflex wasn't particularly strong, so he ended up surprising himself a little by how much he could take. Cas' hand slid into his hair, not pushing him down, but kind of holding onto him for support. It was hot, hot enough to push Dean past the point of having any shame, and he unzipped his jeans, pushed them and his underwear roughly down his hips a little so he could touch himself. It was just shy of too fucking much to handle. Tightening his lips, Dean slid up and back down, taking a little bit more, getting closer to the base. It was still weird, the weight on his tongue, but he tried to bob his head a little, and finally got all the way down, sucking hard. He had to put a hand on Cas' him because he bucked a little, making a desperate little noise. Dean's hips ground down against the bed of their own volition at that, and oh yeah, he'd be making Cas make that noise about a million more times before they went to sleep.

Slowly but surely, he was getting the hang of it, figuring out how to swipe his tongue across the head on the upstroke, wrap a hand around him to give him something to fuck into when Dean needed to breathe. He was starting to kind of like it when Cas tugged him up.

"Too close. I don't want this to be over yet." Dean grinned, blood humming beneath his skin in excitement. Cas cupped his cheek, ran a thumb over his lips slowly. Dean licked at his thumb, closed his lips around it when it slipped into his mouth, sucked on it. Cas looked like he was about to pin him down and ravish him or something. It was such a fucking turn on.

Dean slipped up his body, marking his way with a few kisses to Cas' chest. Cas hands slid down his sides, past the elastic band of his underwear, and grabbed his ass in a way that had Dean biting his lip to keep from making some sort of unholy sound.

"You're gonna have to fuck me soon, or I'm gonna be coming with my pants still on." Cas scooted up the bed to dig around in the drawer of the bedside table. Dean kissed his side, ran his tongue along his ribs. Just the slightest hint of salt on top of Cas' skin-taste. He returned with a bottle of lube in hand and dark, dark eyes.

"Where'd you get that?" Dean smirked a little at the idea of Cas buying it for himself.

"When I first returned, Gabriel gave it to me, I imagine with this end game in mind. I never thought I'd actually have need of it, but I'm not about to complain at being proven wrong." Dean kissed him roughly, briefly, just to show him he cared. "Just to be certain, you do still with to do it this way? I wouldn't mind, if you would feel more comfortable-"

"Cas, no. This is how I want it. I want you inside me." Cas practically purred, falling in to kiss him deeply, thoroughly, tongue searching for spots he missed but not finding any. He sat up a little so he could actually get Dean naked, and Dean followed his mouth. It was about time.

"How would you like to do this?"

Dean mock-posed like a pin-up. "I dunno. How do you want me, baby?" So maybe it was part bravado because he was a little nervous here, just a little. If he were ever going to freak out with some sort of flashback or something, it would be here.

"Would you feel more comfortable if you were able to look at me?" Cas asked, clearly seeing through everything. Dean sighed, smiling softly at him for a second before leaning forward to kiss him again. Desperate, yet tender, he tried to convey all the things he didn't know how to say, a thousand different little reasons why he was forever grateful, even as the kiss turned a little less sweet and a little more dirty. It renewed the little dip in his arousal, brought him back to needing it again.

"I don't know how I ever didn't see this," he said. "I don't, I just- I really love you, you know?"

"Yes. I think I do." Dean found Cas' hands, popped open the lube.

Licking his lips, Dean said, "Let's get this show on the road, eh?" Cas laid him out, kissed him softly. "Not a virgin, Cas, and horny as fuck. You don't gotta coddle me." Dean spread his legs, an open invitation. Cas ran an appreciative hand over one of his thighs, not getting close enough to his aching cock. The sight of him getting between Dean's legs, his open mouth, his dark eyes, was putting Dean on edge. A little bit of pre-come dripped onto his belly, and Cas darted forward to lick it away. He pressed a kiss to the crown of Dean's cock while dripping cool lube into the crevasse behind his balls. Dean was biting his knuckles, trying to maintain a little dignity, not that it mattered.

One of Cas' blunt fingers dipped between his cheeks and gently rubbed against his hole. All-in-all, it wasn't completely weird and not that uncomfortable. Dean knew it felt good, otherwise, people wouldn't do it all the time, and he'd done a couple girls through the back entrance, so he knew it wasn't that bad. Staring at Cas, at the way he was looking at Dean like all he wanted was to make sure he was okay, Dean knew it would be awesome. Hell, he was looking forward to it, and he wasn't a goddamn china doll. Dean shifted a little, planting his feet on the bed a little better, and pushed back against Cas' finger. It slid in with only a little resistance, and Cas gave him a look.

"I take it you're trying to show your enthusiasm? Duly noted." He pushed his finger in a little deeper, then withdrew it to get a little more lube. The sensation was a little odd, but not bad, and the fact that Cas was starting to mouth around the base of his cock helped a bit. In all honesty, his ass was totally on-board with what was going on, enough that he didn't feel too shy about pushing himself back until he could feel the rest of Cas' hand against his ass. That got him a second finger, a little more of a stretch, but not unwelcome. Really, it felt kinda good, and maybe that made him a little bit of a slut, but whatever. He was on his goddamn marriage bed with his legs spread: he could be a slut if he damn well wanted to. Cas twisted his fingers a little before scissoring them, making Dean groan.

"Where the hell did you learn this?" Dean made a little noise and angled back towards Cas.

"When I first realized my sexual attraction to you, I went to the internet for research. I watched pornography, perused erotic fiction, read articles on the subject. I had thought it only fueled my imagination and lust, that it would make it unbearable, but other than the obvious heightening of my fantasies regarding you, I gained some knowledge." His fingers pressed around, clearly searching for something, and when he found it, Dean let out a low whine, throwing his head back like a painted whore.

"Christfuck, Cas!" he bit out. "The internet is our new best friend." Cas added a third finger, and Dean fucked himself back on his hand. They worked out a sort of rhythm, Cas twisting and spreading his fingers every time Dean pushed back. His nerve endings were all singing hallelujahs, and fuck, his cock was just dripping in anticipation. He had to look totally depraved, hips rolling and his whole body moving with it, mouth open, fists gripping the sheets so he maybe had something to ground himself against.

"Cas, you gotta fuck me already. I need it, I need- ah! _Please_, Cas." He may have whimpered a little, but Cas slid his fingers out, coated his cock with more lube, hissing a little. Dean's body was humming with need by the time Cas lined himself up.

"Dean, are you sure-"

Dean pushed back in response, letting out a little noise when the head of Cas' cock pushed past the rim of his ass. "You better fuck me, you hear? I'm not some pansy girl. I want your dick, and I want it hard. Got me?" Cas settled down, balancing himself on his elbows, and kissed Dean softly across his jaw and cheek.

"I've got you," he whispered, sinking himself in until they were one being joined at the middle. Dean gasped, unprepared for how _right_ it felt, having Cas buried in him, having a part of him inside him. He'd never felt so full, so wanted, before, even if it burned just a little, the stretch.

Dean lifted his legs a little, wrapped them around Cas, and the angle let them get just a little closer. Cas started to move, slowly at first, like he was figuring out how, but once he picked up a rhythm, Dean was done for. He couldn't do much more than takes his thrusts, try to meet the roll of Cas' hips. Every so often, he'd hit that one spot and Dean keen and dig his fingers into Cas' back.

"Yeah, yeah," he panted. "Just like that. _Harder_. I need more, Cas. More of you." Cas pushed one of his legs up a little higher, gave a particularly deep thrust, and Dean yelled. What, he had no idea, but he sure as hell cried out with it, only spurring Cas on more. He was so electrified with arousal, he could barely think, only able to focus on how close he was getting, how much he needed it.

"My God, Dean, I love you. You're perfect. You're the most perfect being in all of Creation." Dean whimpered, broken and whole, and when Cas leaned down to kiss him, he fell apart. It was too much. He came harder than he could remember, hard enough that it felt like the first time, and hell, he may have blacked out a little bit.

When he came back to himself, Cas was groaning, his pace picking up, and Dean did his best to help him out as much as he could, trying to tighten his muscles a little. Cas' mouth fell open, one of his hands threading through Dean's hair. He panted against his neck as he slowed a little, and Dean felt a bit of warmth inside of him. After a moment, Cas fell against him wholly. Dean's leg slid down his back, holding him close. They breathed together for a while until Dean realized that he'd probably get a cramp or something if he didn't reposition himself, and Cas was starting to drift off a little anyway.

"Hey, let's tuck in, alright?" Cas looked at him and nodded, pulling out slowly with an utterly pornographic wet noise. After Dean grabbed his shirt to wipe their stomachs off, they scooted up a bit, got under the covers. They lined themselves up, entwined their legs until they were comfortable, and somewhere in there, their mouths met in a slow, steady kiss. Cas' mouth tasted like sex, and maybe if Dean wasn't tired and totally unable to get it up for at least a while, he would've tried for a little more. As it was, Cas was falling asleep, so he just relaxed into him, not even bothered enough to turn off the light.


	26. Chapter 25

Dean woke up practically cocooned. Cas' cheek was resting on his, arms wrapped around him, one leg thrown over his hip. The idea of how tangled they had to look made Dean grin. It was kind of great. Besides, they weren't used to spooning naked, so it was nice feeling nothing but skin all over. Well, skin and other things. Dean was used to waking up with a little morning wood; that was just his life, and maybe he'd just never looked, but he didn't remember Cas doing the same little morning evasion Dean had to do all the time. But oh yeah, he definitely had a bit of a woody, and in a few minutes, Dean would be awake enough to do something about it. As it was, he angled his ass back a little bit in a way he knew would be pretty nice, and grinned sleepily when Cas tightened his hold on him a little.

"I can tell you're awake," Dean whispered. Cas sort of nuzzled their foreheads together, fingers just idle tracing his ribs.

"I have been for a while. I felt you smile."

Dean found one of his hands and guided it down his stomach. "The rest of me is awake too, you know."

"Really?" Cas asked softly, wrapping his hand around Dean's cock. "Just how awake?" He kissed the corner of Dean's mouth, making him twist a little so their lips could meet. They kissed for a long while, gently at first, then a little more hungry, a little more wanting, until Dean was thrusting into Cas' fist and forced to break away for air.

"You know, I think I'm pretty awake now. If you're up for a little exertion," Dean whispered. Cas mouthed at his jaw, humming in appreciation. Affectionately, Dean ran a hand through Cas' bed head before flipping over onto his stomach.

Cas pressed his lips against the nape of his neck, saying, "You're sure?" Dean nodded. He wasn't awake enough to do it any other way, and now that he'd slept on it, he was pretty sure that he was a bit of a giant whore for Cas playing with his ass. Sometime later, he'd smack himself about a million times for being too dumb to figure it all out, but he had other things on his mind at the moment. Namely, Cas' fingers, which were sliding down over his hole, just sort of teasing. One circled him gingerly before pressing in a little, very softly.

"If you're sore at all, we can do something else-"

"No, it's fine." He was maybe a little sore, but only barely, and as Cas' finger worked around a little, it was quickly going away. His ass was still slick from the night before, and now that he knew how good it was, he was looking forward to a little more than just a finger. But Cas had other plans. He was working him, stretching him, slowly, really drawing it out, and the whole thing was making Dean a little sleepy again.

After what felt like a long time, Cas paused and Dean heard the bottle of lube snap open. Dean spread his legs a little more to give Cas some more room, relaxing when he felt a hand on his hip. The blunt, wet head of his cock pressed against Dean's entrance for a moment before he slid home. It knocked Dean's breath out of him. The feeling of being full, of being connected to someone he wanted, someone who wanted him. It felt like everything.

Cas went slow, just a lazy morning kind of fuck, because hell, they had all the time in the world. They had time to whisper _I love you_'s and kiss softly, even if the angle was a little weird, and they had time for Dean to try to memorize the steady drag of Cas' cock inside of him, how it felt when he nudged that thing inside him that made his breath stutter and heart pound, his skin come alive. If he thought about it (which he did), Dean would say that he'd never really actually _made love_ until that morning. He'd had a lot of sex, sure, but it was never so full of feeling, so completely soaked in comfort and admiration and, yeah, _love_. He decided officially, then and there, that he'd never even want to sleep with anyone else again.

* * *

><p>After forever, Cas pulled him to his knees so he could wrap a hand around him, drag him over the edge with sure, steady strokes, make a few final thrusts that almost felt like too much. They laid there for a while until Dean thought it might be a good idea to check out the clock, and if he hadn't still been worn out with pleasure, he probably would have panicked. It was one already, and everyone was coming over at two, and yeah, they definitely needed to shower and possibly clean up a little, but he was comfortable. It wasn't until about twenty after that he managed to work up the motivation to acknowledge it.<p>

"I think we're gonna have to share a shower," he whispered. "Too bad, but I guess in the interests of water conservation..."

"What time is- Oh. Yes, that would be a good plan. I think we should refrain from any more sexual activity until later tonight.

"Yeah. Good idea."

* * *

><p>It wasn't, and they ended up going against it anyway. Besides, a couple of soapy hand jobs never hurt anyone. Of course, they ended up having to get dressed in a rush, which was kind of defeated by the fact that every time they crossed paths, Dean had to kiss Cas because he could, and in the end, Cas was still helping him button his shirt (not the most effective of maneuvers) when they heard the first knock at the door.<p>

Dean answered it, finding Sam and Gabriel with all sorts of food ingredients, alcohol, and various cooking implements in their arms. JD, who, Dean realized, still needed to be fed, came bounding up and pretty much pounced on Sam.

"You think he recognizes one of his own species?" Gabriel asked, winking. "What'd you name him, anyways?"

"Jack Daniel's," Dean said, picking up the puppy.

Sam sighed. "Of course you did. Why am I not surprised?"

"Quit judging. Lemme go feed him. I'll be right back." Dean took JD into the spare room, where all the puppy implements sat, forgotten the night before. "Don't worry, buddy, we'll move you outta here tonight. Now, I hope you eat like a man, cause otherwise we're gonna have words." Dean left a large food helping, thinking it would make up for the missed breakfast. As he left the room, he bumped into Cas, then pulled him back in, shutting the door quietly behind.

"So, here's the deal: I don't think Sam or Gabe know that we're knocking boots and whatnot, and I wanna screw with them. That okay?"

"Of course. I expected you might want a little revenge for the past several years."

"Awesome. Let's go."

Dean left the door open a little so JD could come out when he was done and joined everyone in the kitchen. Gabriel was supervising the set up in the kitchen while Sam watched with a little smile. Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder.

"How's it going?"

"Good. It's been a good Christmas," Sam said. Dean had almost forgotten. Hell, he'd forgotten until he saw the time earlier. "And hey, sorry we didn't bring our presents over. I guess we didn't get that you guys wanted to do the full Christmas thing here."

"What d'ya mean?"

Sam gestured at the Christmas tree and the untouched presents beneath it; they'd totally forgotten. "What, did you forget to open them this morning?"

"Yeah, something like that. Woke up late. You know how it is." Sam watched Gabriel and Cas for a moment. "By the way, what was that phone call last night?"

"Hmm?" It took Dean a second to remember much more than the naked parts of the night before. "Oh, that was your Christmas present, bitch. Thought I'd entertain your sick fantasies for at least a moment. You're welcome."

"Jerk. I wish you wouldn't do shit like that to Cas. He didn't hear, did he? That would make you such an asshole."

"Nah, it was alright."

"Dean, I'm _serious_. He deserves better than that. He's your best friend."

"Jesus! He didn't hear me on the phone last night, alright? It's okay. I wouldn't do that to him."

"Good." Sam smiled. "You got any Christmas music in here?" Dean only had one Christmas album, and it was something Sam gave him the year before, so he let Sam plug his iPod into the speakers. Freaking Kenny G. Dean wondered idly if gay sex made one infinitely gayer. If it did, he and Cas would be buying monogrammed towels and sweaters and girly scarves within the week, they'd be that busy.

"Sam, why don't you make some eggnog? Not too strong," Gabriel said, sliding a ham into the oven. Dean grinned, watching everyone move about.

"Look at us. Four dudes without a single decent childhood between us, and we're fixing Christmas dinner."

"You mean _we_'re fixing Christmas dinner. And Gabe, did you bring the eggnog? Because I didn't and they don't have any."

"Shit. Can you go to the store? Kinda busy. I've gotta make the rolls and prepare the duck. Cas, you've got the pie, right?" Dean was again reminded why he was the luckiest guy in the world. "And Dean, get in here. You're making mashed potatoes."

"Alright. Be back in a few," Sam said, heading out.

"Do I really gotta work?" Dean mock-whined. "I thought you all were gonna make me food."

"What time is Lisa getting here? She said she'd bring the stuffing and yams."

"She'll be here at three. Calm your tits."

Gabriel was throwing flour and whatnot into a bowl in a frenzy, probably the rolls, and had another bowl out with honey, set a little frying pan of garlic and butter on the stove. Dean was impressed.

"Seriously, where'd you learn all this stuff?"

"Cooking channel, and Sam and I have been taking some classes at the culinary school. Just trying to keep my skill set well-rounded."

"Wow. Gay."

"Fill that pot up halfway with water and put the potatoes in. I already peeled them for you because I don't trust you with a peeler. You can add a little minced garlic to the water, too." Cas was busy coring and chopping apples. Dean hip-checked him on his way to the fridge, not meeting his eyes but smirking all the same.

* * *

><p>Sam came back with the eggnog, and got to work. The four of them toiled away to the sound of Michael Bublé, something Dean would never admit to. Gabriel eventually moved into the kitchen to use the table space to prepare the rolls, and Sam followed him, needing room to cut out Christmas cookies. By then, Cas was stirring a buttery cinnamon syrup for the apple pie.<p>

"That looks so good," Dean said appreciatively, sighing.

Cas dipped his finger in, tasting it. "It tastes decent." Dean gave him a look. Clearly, he was underestimating himself.

"Can I have a taste?"

"Of course." Cas dipped a different finger in, but Dean ignored it, instead going for his mouth. He tasted like what childhood should've been, like white picket fences and laundry swinging dry on a line and tall grass waving in the wind, the calls of mothers for their children echoing down the street, that one perfect pie on the windowsill left to cool, a perfect finger-shaped hole in the middle. Dean pulled away to suck the syrup from Cas' outstretched finger, then went back in, teasing his way into Cas' mouth.

It only took a moment for Dean to forget that they were just sharing a taste, and he wound up with his hands in Cas' hair, pushed up against the counter with a thigh between his legs.

"_Holy shit_."

Cas jumped away, and Dean saw Gabriel, tray still thankfully in his hands, standing in the doorway. He looked like he'd just been slapped.

"So, yeah. Uh." Dean looked around uncomfortably. He'd wanted to keep it a secret a little while longer, post-pone the inevitable reveal.

"Please tell me my brother didn't set something on fire," Sam called from the other room.

"No, uh, it's alright." Gabriel looked between Cas and Dean, trying to work it all out. "Okay, so how long has this been going on?" he whispered, moving to put the rolls in the oven.

"Last night," Dean answered. "I was hoping we could punk you guys. Didn't mean for you to walk in just now."

"Dude, Sam is gonna flip his shit. I told him last night that when you called it was cause you two chuckleheads were finally gonna get it on, but he didn't believe me. Thank god I was right. Wait, you did get it on, right?"

Cas rolled his eyes and nodded while Dean grinned and suggestively raised his eyebrows. One of his fingers threaded through Dean's belt loop.

"How are you planning on getting Sam? I can help, you know."

Dean shrugged. "Hadn't actually thought that far ahead. You got anything?"

"I mean, really, you could do anything. I think he's pretty thoroughly convinced that you're too much of an idiot for it to ever happen. You'll surprise him however you do it." Dean thought about it for a moment. How to best stage it?

"You know, I think I got an idea. Can you take over in here for a little bit?"

"Yeah, I got it."

"What are we going to do?" Cas asked quietly. Dean got a couple of cups out of the cupboard and the eggnog out of the fridge.

"We," he said, pouring, "are going to relax. Come on."

They sat down on the couch, Dean leaning against Cas with one leg sprawled out over the cushions, the other foot resting on the floor. He set Cas' arm over the seat back and sipped at his eggnog. Snuggled in a little. Basked in the music.

"Cuddling's pretty gay, Dean." Dean opened his eyes, catching a bitch face over a tray of cookies.

"Your face is pretty gay," he called as Sam went into the kitchen. When Sam was out of view, he set the eggnog aside and climbed onto Cas' lap. "Okay, so the object is to scar him as much as possible without getting naked. Got it?" He barely gave Cas time to nod before closing in for a kiss. Cas held onto him by the shoulders like he needed it for support. It made Dean feel necessary. Even still, it was a little crazy to think that Cas loved him and only him, that he was that lucky. After all, Dean had someone who loved him, someone who tasted like the promise of happiness and kissed like a dying man, made love like he was perfect, like it was an honor. People like Dean didn't deserve that kind of thing. People like Dean were-

"BRAIN BLEACH. _Now_." Dean turned to offer his brother a smirk. "Seriously, what the fuck? I get that you think it's funny to get my hopes up, but can you do it a little less graphically? My _eyes_. My poor eyes."

"You know you liked it. You've been wetting your panties for it for years."

"Ha ha. Very funny. Just because it's Christmas doesn't mean I won't beat you up for being an asshole to Cas. Dick move. Really."

"What are you talking about?"

"I am quite happy," Cas added in.

"Dude, you're better than some guy who uses you to screw with his brother. Way better than that."

Dean pretty much facepalmed. "Sam, I think you're-"

"No, _Dean_, I really thought you were above this. This is low for anyone, especially you. Cas had never done wrong by you, and even that one time when you thought he did, it was just to save your life. So stop being such an asshole. Don't think I won't kick you out of your own apartment, Dean, cause I will."

"Sammy?" Gabriel put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "It's real. They're not faking. I promise." It looked like Sam couldn't even comprehend it for a moment, but then he grinned impossibly wide and walked over to them.

"I am _so happy_ for you. You can't possibly understand. This is all I ever wanted for you. Both of you. It's beautiful." He sighed, looking like a proud parent.

"...Okay, and chick flick moment _over_. Come on, Cas, we got pie to make. Sammy, we'll get you tampons next time we go to the store, okay?"

"Shut up, jerk."

"Bitch. Now get cooking."

Sam put a hand on his shoulder, not content to leave anyone's masculinity intact. "Thanks, Dean. I'm glad you're not completely an asshole. It's nice."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't you have cookies or cider or something to make?" Dean headed into the kitchen, taking the boiled potatoes out with a pair of tongs, dropping them into a huge bowl. It was pretty awesome that Gabriel gave him this job, since Dean liked the idea of still getting to be a man when he was cooking. Mashing potatoes was plenty manly. And if Cas was right next to him, then it only got better.

After a little while, Cas leaned over and just gave him a peck on the cheek. Dean was going to ask what it was for, but he didn't need to; just looking at him, Dean could tell he was thankful for him, for Sam, for Gabriel, for everything working out. Dean was grateful, too. He gave Cas a little nudge with his elbow, a little smile to go with it.

"Stop being cute. I'm going to vomit all over this ham," Gabriel said, tone light and joking.

"Aah, shut up. You're just jealous."

Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't, but Dean was happy, so he didn't care.


	27. Epilogue

2007

Seoul, South Korea

Nearly a Mile Underground

* * *

><p>A soldier not yet known as Castiel Winchester received his first solo mission. He was a good soldier, well-known for his loyalty. They spoke of his potential to rise in the ranks, of how far a man with no mind or heart of his own could advance. But the soldier paid no heed to this; his only objective was the mission at hand.<p>

In nine hours, he would begin to question everything he'd ever known. In nine hours, he'd learn something of love other than the whispers he'd caught on the wind, soft words of something other than the life he'd known. In nine hours, he'd see how far a man could venture into darkness and still remain good.

But at that moment, he thought of nothing but the orders he'd been given.


End file.
